The Eternal War: A Kingdom's Rising
by tthorn
Summary: Taken on his arrival into a new world to the City of Sorcery, Minas Morgul. Educated in the dark arts and the politics of Mordor, see Harry Potter rise and claim what it is in him to take. How will he react when it comes to the War of the Ring, can he withstand the snare of his masters or will he rebel against them to forge his own path. Multi-crossover. Powerful, Political Harry
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is a redo of my multi crossover, the Traveller. A warning in advance it is a lot darker, less pleasant and a lot more realistic than the original, that said however I think it is an improvement, but please leave a review because otherwise I have no idea.**

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The Eternal War: The Traveller

Chapter 1

I am a humble scribe, a beetle who observes events unfolding below him from his high vantage point and records them as I see them. Every writer has one great work and this is my own, my Iliad, yet the many I shall record the deeds of is no mere Odysseus.

From time immemorial the deeds of great men and women have been recorded through song, tale and writing. Genghis Khan, Merlin, Julius Caesar; their names flow from our tongues as easily as their tales into our ears. For they are the men who made the world what it is today, they can claim to be responsible for some of the biggest events in history yet there is one name that dwarfs them all. One name that makes all others seem insignificant.

Harry James Potter, my lord and my god.

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"Harry James Potter, you are hereby found guilty by this court on the charges of breaking into Ministry property, the murder of several upstanding members of our community and the use of a Grade 1 banned spell, the Cruciatus Curse. This court sentences you to death by the use of the Veil of Death in the very department into which you broke."

Harry was not surprised by the verdict, he knew it would go against him. Seconds, seconds were what had made the difference. Had Fudge and the rest of the Ministry arrived a couple of seconds earlier they would have seen Voldemort face to face but they hadn't and nobody believed Harry when he had said that he was there.

His friends had all been forced to testify against him, they were given a choice; do so or suffer the same fate. Harry was unsurprised that they did, not after Dumbledore chose the same option. In his apology to Harry, which wasn't much of an apology, he said that there had to be someone there to fight Voldemort and if they were both executed by the Ministry then there was no hope. Harry agreed but couldn't help thinking that he would have preferred it for Dumbledore to take the punishment rather than himself.

He didn't even try to fight as he was lead out of the courtroom and down into bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He didn't even try to fight when they took his wand and broke it, hanging to broken pieces around his neck with a piece of string, laughing as they did so. Fighting would only help people to believe in the cock-and-bull story that Fudge had come up with. It amused Harry that although the Fudge administration was incompetence at governing the country, it was most certainly competent at spinning a story their way.

Because of this it would be known throughout the wizarding world that Harry Potter had tried to break into the Ministry to steal something from the Department of Mysteries and in so doing killing a couple of notable purebloods in society who had happened to come upon him. In reality of course he hadn't killed them, one had been killed by a collapsing ceiling that had been hit by a curse, the other had taken another Death Eater's slicing curse to his face. But to the rest of the wizarding world it would look like Harry had killed them, exactly as the Minister wanted.

As they entered the veil room and Harry looked upon the heinous monstrosity that had taken his godfather from him, he saw the scene of Sirius falling replaying itself again and again in his mind. Once he was positioned within touching distance of the Veil, the charges and verdict against him were read out once more. When they had finished the two aurors who were holding him moved into position and with one last push he was thrown through.

*******The Eternal War**********

Harry landed with a thump, striking a hard rock floor with such force that his bones and muscles ached from the impact. After lying on the ground for a couple of seconds to allow the ache from the new up and coming bruises on his body to lessen, Harry tried to drag himself up into a sitting position.

Then a foot came down hard on his back, pushing him back down onto the floor.

"What do we have here, if it isn't a little runt," a harsh voice spoke, "he will do well for the mines."

A hand grasped him by the back of the neck, hauling him up. Harry saw where he was now, he was in a city or a town of some sort and it was burning, there were bodies all over the ground and he could see a great cloud of smoke stretching out into the skies above. The stench of burning corpses was overpowered by the smell of whatever was holding him. The person who was holding him turned him so as to look at his face.

The first thing Harry saw was an incredibly ugly and scarred face, vaguely resembled of the goblins that Harry knew and well, not quite loved, but accepted anyway. Whatever this thing was it was bigger, almost human size with a lot more muscles. Its dress was made up of scraps and what looked like whatever it could find. In the background behind they could see another whole host of them assembled behind checking some humans and searching the bodies of the dead. Harry watched in horror as one ripped open the skull of the bodies, raising a handful of grey matter to his mouth. His attention was brought back to his captor by a hand that forcibly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back into that ugly face.

"You're a proper runt," the ugly face sneered, "perhaps you won't serve in the mines after all, we might be allowed a little snack after all our hard work. What's that?"

The creature had noticed the remains of Harry's wand hanging round his neck. In a moment of inspiration Harry remembered Hagrid and his wand, broken although possible to use. He really did not want to be eaten.

"Expelliarmus!"

The creature flew back, crashing into a couple of the other creatures sending them down to the ground. Harry used the confusion that followed to quickly get a better grip of his wand and to look for a way out but there was none that he could see. The confusion and noise of fighting had drawn more of them and they were pouring out of the side streets and soon he was totally surrounded by a tight ring of them.

They stood for a moment in hesitation before one of the bolder ones took the initiative and charged at Harry, waving a rusty sword above his head.

"Confringo!"

The blasting curse turned the creature's insides to mush and he toppled over, black blood leaking from his wounds onto the stone cobbled ground.

Silence reigned over the street in which they were standing, the creatures shifting uneasily. Finally another of them pushed his way to the front. This was one was different from all the others who surrounded him, it wore a robe covered in patterns depicting a red eye wreathed in flame and held in his hand a staff, a staff with what looked like human bones and skulls attached to it.

It paused for a moment before shaking his staff and pointing it at Harry, uttering some words that Harry really did not understand. He did understand what happened next though as a fireball left the staff and drove at Harry, who had to throw himself to the ground to avoid it.

The fireball, having passed by Harry, hit the ranks of the assembled creatures behind him , causing many of them to be consumed in flame and quickly burnt to a cinder. The magic wielding creature really didn't seem to care that it was killing its own side but just continued throwing fireballs at Harry, cackling madly as it did so.

Diving out the way of the whirling balls of death Harry started to respond with his own curses, cutting and blasting ones in particular; the scenes of death around him were enough that an already pissed Harry was ready to go to the next level.

Harry soon realised that he would be overcome very quickly, for though from the looks of it the creature sorcerer had very little spells to use, he unlike Harry was fresh and not wielding a broken wand. The sorcerer was just blocking many of Harry's curses, which weak as they were already was easy to do and those that hit were having little effect. He needed to do something drastic.

Looking around at the savaged corpses of men, woman and children and imagining the pain he would be in as these creatures ate him, he mustered all his hatred into a single spell. The bright green of the Killing Curse crossed the gap between them, broke through the weak shield that the creature brought to bear and smacked into it. With a slight wobble, the creature slowly toppled and hit the deck.

At once the creatures began a fearsome frenzy of noise, until something said a word. Harry turned around.

There before him was a cloaked figure which had the same feel as the Dementors, cold and fear inspiring but where the Dementor floated this rode for it was mounted on a huge black steed and Harry could see the glimmerings of armour underneath its robes. There was little doubt the thing was not human.

"What's your name, human?" it said in a rattle of a voice.

"Potter," Harry said, doing his best James Bond impression, "Harry Potter!"

One of the creatures sniggered at the name, and Harry's slicing hex took his head clean from his shoulders.

"Potter," it seemed to muse, "an unusual name, where are you from Potter."

"Not here," Harry said humorously, looking around, "I got banished here by another wizard that I didn't quite get along with."

The thing seemed to lose patience, "where in Middle Earth are you from, mortal! Rohan? Gondor?"

Now Harry was confused, the Arch was obviously a portal but a portal from where to where? The only possibility he could think of was he had been thrown to another dimension.

"None of those places," Harry said, raising his voice, "I know not of them either, nor this Middle Earth of which you speak."

One of the creatures burst through the ring, a club of some sort raised "the maggot lies, my lord, let me teach him some manners!"

The cloaked figure just looked at him and raised a mailed hand and said something Harry didn't understand and the creature was totally and utterly disintegrated. Harry was fucked now, he saw that. He had killed some of their men and now they had a wizard on their side who would have dwarfed Harry when he was fresh and with a fixed wand.

"I will give you a choice, wizard," the cloaked figure spoke, "serve my master or be my servants' reward for their work."

Hard choice Harry thought to himself, not. Be alive or be creature food, I think I will go with the alive bit. It's not like I can escape from this situation at the moment, weak as I am, besides even if this lord of his turns out to be this world's version of Voldemort, he could just escape at a later point.

"I'll take the first option," Harry said.

If anything the creatures looked slightly disappointed, although Harry wasn't regretting not giving them a feast, he rather liked his body as it was certainly better than being torn into hundreds of different pieces and eaten.

The cloaked figure spoke again in its spooky voice, "Murad, he's yours!"

A figure standing beside the black spectre raised his hand and Harry felt dizzy. Seconds later he was crashing to the ground and soon all he knew was blackness.

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**AN: Before anyone says I know this is practically the same as the original, it is from the second chapter when the drastic changes occur. Hope you enjoy and please review.**

**T Horn**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Just in case you don't know I own neither Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. This chapter is where the real changes begin, I have introduced our old friend from Akmunsa sooner and made him more important. Hope you prefer the changes.**

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Chapter 2

Minas Morgul, the Tower of Black Sorcery was what its name meant and was as much a description as a name. For it was in this fortified city that the wizards and shamans in the service of Mordor were trained and from whence that army that Harry had been unfortunate enough to run into had issued.

Two weeks he had been marched in chains, barely lucid through drugs that they poured into his mouth to prevent him from using his magic. Two weeks since he had first arrived in this Middle Earth, this Hell incarnate. But in those two weeks he had learnt much, he had learn anger and hatred. Emotions gathered from the corpses of children that scattered the path of the raiding party's march, from the gnawed bones of men eaten as food by the hideous creatures that made up this army and from the raped women who were being dragged along in chains alongside him. Harry had seen one occasion, in a period where he was more lucid, when the creatures begun to feast on the outer limbs of a young girl, no older than sixteen, even as another of their kind mounted her fiercely.

Harry had never truly hated anything in his life, with the sole exception perhaps of Voldemort, but even then he was only one person rather than a whole race, but Harry hated these creatures. He wondered whether this was how Voldemort felt towards muggles, seeing something in them that so utterly disgusted him that he was moved to go for their utter eradication. If Harry could he would wipe this race from the earth, hunt every single one of their kind until they were all gone. There seemed to be no mercy, no compassion and no morals in them at all. At least the Death Eaters had been shown some humanity, had killed but unless purpose had demanded otherwise had done so quickly and cleanly.

The City of Black Sorcery seemed green to the young wizard as he struggled with the weight of the chains and he wondered whether that was as a result of the drugs or whether the eerie effect of the light was some sort of spell designed to disturb any intruder. Over the causeway they went as the huge gates, taller than the roof of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, opened ominously to allow the horde to enter within its confines.

Dazed Harry was separated from the rest of the chained slaves and held violently still by four powerful mottled brown arms of those things as another poured the acidic, bitter liquid that contained the drug down his throat all the while painfully holding his mouth open. As the hazed version of reality that the drug settled on him, Harry felt himself being lifted and moved. Head spinning he could make out nothing further than that. Time seemed to pass differently under the influence of the mixture causing an hour to seem to pass in seconds, a day's hard journeying across unfamiliar terrain to be over in minutes. It was powerful stuff.

Suddenly he felt as he was plummeting thrown hard down against hard stone floor. Clanking of chains sounded as he felt something being fitted around his neck and more chinking of chains. When it stopped he felt something seize his jaw and wrench it open, before something liquid touched his tongue causing him to struggle even more. However he was forced to swallow the substance or drown because of it. As he felt the liquid settle in his stomach he instantly begun to feel his senses return to him and the haziness which had been a curse on him from days disappear.

Glad of the return to normality Harry begun to look around, desperate to know where he was and what all this weight on his body was. His arms had iron bracelets he saw around the wrists and these were attached to chains which were bolted into the floor, each chain so tight that he could barely both either of his arms. Around his neck had been fitted a collar of more iron which was heavy on his neck and cold. It too was attached to more chains that were connected to the floor. All these chains forced him to stay as he was unable to move, in the kneeling position with his arms spread wide.

He was not alone in the room for there were black armoured guards standing in every corner with an extra two situated near the doors. As Harry looked around he could guess what sort of a room this was as the holes on the floor for the chains looked old and permanent whilst he had been forced to kneel to face a raised dais with nine thrones arranged on it with one situated even higher, raised high above the nine. This was a reception room, a room of judgement on the unfortunate to be chained below them. Harry was that unfortunate.

The door swept open and all Harry could see from the corner of his eye, his head being held as it was, was an armoured boot and black robes. A figure like the one who had so scared him in the town appeared before him, at first Harry thought it was the same one but as it came closer he knew that it was not. This one was so much more powerful than the other one; its aura seemed to suck the will to fight right out of Harry, leaving him with only the desire to get out of here as soon as possible. As dementors were nothing compared to the Black robe in the town, that one was nothing compared with this one.

"So this is the wizard?" it hissed, its voice imbued with power.

"Yes, milord," came a voice which was unmistakably human.

Harry continued to look out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch sight of recognisable features, all the while hoping that the humans of this world were not as bad as the other creatures that infested it. Black robes he caught sight of though the man itself was hooded, but on it Harry could see markings on it, different from the ones that the fire thrower had worn but certainly resembling them.

"This is the tool he used," the hooded man said, beckoning to something beyond Harry's sight.

One of those creatures came forward, bearing a small box in his gorilla like arms. Harry had to restrain the urge to struggle as he thought of his precious wand in the hands of such barbaric creatures, things so much lower that the Death Eaters and their ilk. The man took the box and dismissed the creature, before opening it to reveal Harry's wand laid on a pillow of material.

Harry almost sighed with relief when he saw, he had feared that it would be lost or further damaged when he had been taken but from this distance there seemed to be no new damage. The cloaked lord stepped forward and brushed his hand along its length, touching the wood.

"It is powerful," it said.

Suddenly there was a screech of pain and Harry's ears hurt, unable to protect them with his hand as the others in the room were able to do so. The thing was clutching its finger, as if it had just burnt it on a hot fire but Harry saw a glimpse of something red sticking out from one of the broken ends of his wand; the phoenix feather. The robed thing spun and turned on Harry.

"What is in that staff?" the cold voice asked, "what gives it its power?"

Harry was no coward, indeed many would say he was the opposite but even he could not fight against the dread that filled his heart as the Black Robe spoke to him in fury. When he fought against Voldemort or the Basilisk or the Dementors there was always a cause, some reason to fight whether that be to save someone he loved or to save himself. Now however he had no such cause, fighting would only bring about his death rather than prevent it.

"The feather of a phoenix," he said, trying to keep the terror out of his voice.

The figure stepped back, seemingly satisfied with the answer. For Harry it made sense, for the figure he associated with death and darkness, so it would be only natural that it would react poorly with a phoenix feather.

"One of my brethren has said that you will serve with us," the shadow said, "is this the case?"

Harry shrugged, or would of if he could, "if it stops me getting killed and eaten, then yes."

He would serve until he could escape, then he would run, run far away and from there work on how to get home. And once he did run heaven help any of the ugly creatures that he ran into, he would kill any he found for the common good.

"You should be honoured to serve in the army of Sauron the Great, Lord of Mordor and Greatest Servant of Morgoth the Creater of All," it hissed, "do so well and for your service you will be rewarded with riches, knowledge, power and slaves."

Harry didn't want any of those, well certainly not the last, but he knew that he needed the first two. He was lost in this new world, he knew nothing about it or its people and he needed information and knowledge so that when he did run, he would be able to do so in a way that was planned and not just a headstrong run. And as for the riches, he would need such to buy food and other necessaries on his escape.

"Take him away," the thing spoke harshly, "he is to be placed under your command Murad."

The hooded man nodded before beckoning two of the creatures forward to unchain Harry from the floor. Once he was released they pulled him to his feet and lead him forcefully out of the room after the hooded man. Outside of the room they released him and Harry found him face to face with the hooded man, actually face to face for the other man had lowered his hood and was looking at Harry intently.

Harry also studied him, keen to learn what sort of people the humans were who dwelt in this world. He was very different from the people whom Harry had seen in the town and among those who had become slaves for his face was of a nobler sort, not of nature but rather of appearance, whilst his skin was also heavily tanned, close to what Harry would describe as Mediterranean with curly black hair and a short beard. Harry would estimate his age as being mid-twenties although he could not be sure.

"You are under my command," he said in a slightly accented voice, "that means if I say you eat, you eat, if I say you fight, then you fight and if I say you die then you die. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded, it did seem pretty clear enough it was after all only a declaration that he expected blind obedience. Of the sort that Harry had never been very good at giving. After a moment there were footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor, the one that did not lead into the judgement room. A man came towards them, very different in looks and clothing than Murad, but not too different either.

"Esus," Murad said, turning to the other man, "this boy is now under your guidance, I and the Wraith Lord will hold you personally responsible for him."

The other man nodded his assent and Murad gave him a couple more orders before going back into the judgement room and leaving the two of them standing there. Harry glanced over this man as well. In comparison Harry would say that this Esus was more comparable to Middle Eastern than Mediterranean, had a slightly squashed nose which looked like it had been broken several times and much longer hair that went down past his shoulders in ringlets. Harry guessed that he was around early forties or so, compared with Murad's twenties.

"You going to stand there looking at me or shall we go now?" Esus asked with a laugh.

"Let's go," Harry agreed, slightly embarrassed.

The other man nodded, "follow me then."

They kept in silence as they talked, Harry not sure whether he could ask the older man all the questions he had and Esus making no attempt to start a conversation. After a couple of minutes of walking through dark and eerily lit passageways they came to a door which Esus opened and stepped in before beckoning Harry to follow him.

He found himself in a large room, about the same size as the room where he had been chained to the ground, except that there were no signs of any chains here. Instead on the floor was a huge mosaic, like the ones he had seen in muggle history books about the Romans, but so large that it covered the whole room and was fitted together so finely that it took him a moment to realise that it was a mosaic. What the mosaic showed however was a lot easier to realise, a map which Harry presumed was of Middle Earth.

"Murad told me that you are not from around here," Esus said, from beside him, "he says that the Lord of the Nazgul believes that you are from far to the north and east, or else far from the south, beyond anything any man from this part Middle Earth has gone."

"Nazgul?" Harry asked, not knowing the term.

"The black robed wraiths," Esus explained, "also known as the Ringwraiths, Black Riders or the Nine. The Lord of the Nazgul is the foremost among them, though he has many other names; the Witchking or the Lord of Minas Morgul. He is the one you met today and is commander of the armies of the Dark Lord."

Harry's heart froze at the mention of a Dark Lord but he accepted that he had already known what sort of a man whom he was now serving, the man's other servants had ensured that. Harry presumed that it was his throne that had been higher than the others whilst the nine other thrones belonged to these nine ringwraiths.

"I thought it would be best to give you a general walkthrough of the geography of Middle Earth," Esus continued, "first here is Mordor where we now are, this is the realm of Sauron the Great who rules from his fortress of Barad-Dur. The entrance to these lands are guarded by the Black Gates over here, whilst we are here at the city of Minas Morgul which here is marked as Minas Ithil."

As Esus mentioned each particular landmark he tapped against it with his foot. Overall Harry was impressed with the size of the mosaic; the lands of Mordor were roughly five metres by five and they were only a tiny part of the whole map. Esus went on to describe every bit of the map from Gondor, their lord's principal enemies, to Rohan the home of the horselords and then on to Rhun, the home of the warlike Easterlings who served Sauron.

"Finally, Harad," he said motioning to the desert region south of Mordor, "this land is inhabited by the Haradrium and the Black Númenóreans. We are allied to the Dark Lord, although we do not worship him as is the manner of the Easterlings. It is also were I am from, and from where our cohort is raised from."

"Cohort?" Harry asked.

"The magicians of Minas Morgul are split down into different cohorts," Esus explained patiently, "each depending on where you come from. The three big ones are the Harad, Rhun and Mordor cohorts. You, as you were put under Murad's command, are part of the Harad cohort for the moment."

Harry was surprised, "Murad is from Harad as well, he is quite different in appearance from you."

Esus smiled grimly, "he is not a Haradrium as I am but rather a Black Númenórean. His ancestors conquered my own and even now control the majority of Harad, though there are still some free Haradrium, of which I count myself as one."

Harry noted that away in his mind, there was clearly a fair bit of tension understandably between the Haradrium and the Black Númenóreans. That could either cause him problems or give him opportunities in the future, but he stored it away for the moment. The two left the map room, heading down several flight of steps and out of the main keep.

Staring out at the swarming mass of creatures Harry wondered how many of them there were, the small raiding force he had been captured by had had over two thousand so within the city there must be tens of thousands of them. Harry watched as several of them started a fight over captives whilst off in another direction one disembowel another for accidently stepping on his cloak.

"What are they?" Harry asked, "how many of them are there?"

Esus looked surprised, "you don't know orcs, gods I envy the world you grew up in. Orcs are a blight on humanity, on life and upon this good earth, but they serve our master and so we must live with foul, stinking wretches. The gods know I would rather open one's stomach then give him a hug."

"How many of them are there?" Harry repeated.

Esus blinked, "here in Minas Morgul, only around six thousand or so with most of them in the caves far away from civilised life. Cirth Ungol is their main base in this region with an eight or nine thousand there. In total there are around eighty thousand in the service of Mordor, a lot of them at the Black Gates."

"Eighty thousand," Harry said in horror.

"They breed like rats," Esus agreed, "but that is not all, there are said to around a million throughout the Misty Mountains and a further quarter of a million up in Gundabad. Admittedly they are mostly goblins, lesser orcs, but they are still offspring of the same vile roots."

They headed out across the courtyard, the crowds of orcs separating before the robed wizards as befitting their elevated rank. As they were half across they found their path blocked by two orcs who didn't seem to want to move. Both of them wore the same black robes with the markings of a red flame stitched onto them, which Harry immediately linked with the robes that the orc wizard had worn back when he had been captured. The one whom he had killed with the Killing Curse.

"You can leave darkie," the uglier one of the two sneered, "we only wanna to talk to da little whiteskin 'ere for a ittle bit."

"Dat little whiteskin, as you call him," Esus said, barely concealing his disgust and loathing, "is a member of our cohort, so I would talk to Murad first before you decide to have a little chat. He might take it badly should you have a talk before you have asked him."

With that Esus walked forward forcing the two orcs to separate to allow him to pass Harry made sure to be quick to his heels, he really had no wish to be left behind to have a 'little chat', the very idea made his skin crawl. As he passed Harry could feel the glare of the orcs on him but he ignored them, focusing on what was in front of him without looking to the sides.

"You have made some enemies already I see," Esus said as they reached the other end of the courtyard.

Harry nodded, "I think I killed a friend of theirs back when I was captured. He had the same uniform and the same staff."

"That explains it a little then," the older man said, as they continued their walk across the courtyard, "you will soon learn that life in Minas Morgul is more than just about magic, politics is rife within the city. Each cohort jostles with each other for prominence and within each cohort, sub cohort feuds are common."

"What sub cohort are you in?" Harry asked.

"Jaffarian," Esus stated, "both the Harad and Rhun cohorts' sub cohorts depend on the city state or tribe of origin, therefore a man from Jaffa joins the Jaffarian sub cohort whilst a man from Umbar joins the Umbarian sub cohort. For the moment you will count as a member of the Jaffarian sub cohort until you are reassigned."

Harry nodded, "so what Mordor sub cohort did they come from then?"

"The Mordor one does it differently," Esus said, "their sub cohorts are divided depending on what element the shaman uses; fire, water, earth, darkness, creatures and ice. Those from their staffs were members of the fire sub cohort, nasty buggers they are, very hot tempered."

Both of them managed a small chuckle at Esus' frankly awful joke, but now they came to a large building of which Esus opened the door and beckoned Harry inside. After going through a short tunnel-like corridor Harry found himself in a small open small inside the building. Here the roof opened to allow what little light there was, whilst sand had been poured out to make a sort of arena which was overlooked by a balcony that went all the way around on the second floor with lots of little rooms leading off of it.

"This is Harad cohort headquarters," Esus introduced, "there are around sixty of us here at the moment. This is where you will sleep and train, understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Is this a newbie?" came a shout from the balcony.

They both looked up to see a man leaning on the balcony. The first thing that Harry noticed was that he was very, very short barely five foot Harry would guess and he had dark olive skin.

"Yes," Esus shouted back, "Harry this is Uri, Uri Harry."

This Uri looked at Harry closely before jumping down from the balcony, which made Harry wince as he landed from it was certainly no mean distance and not one that Harry would ever be jumping from should he ever have the option. Once he had recovered from his jump, the short man came over to where they were standing continuing to examine Harry.

"This is the one Murad brought back from the raid?" he said, "the one that had those wraiths so interested?"

Esus nodded and Uri smiled at Harry before clasping his arm.

"Welcome to Harad cohort then I suppose," he said before leaving.

"That was…." Harry said, unsure about how to say it without being rude.

Esus' lips curled into a smile, "very odd? Yes Uri is that, very different is the nice way of saying it I suppose."

The older wizard led Harry over to the stairs and then up onto the balcony overlooking the training ring below. Each of the walls that lay off the balcony had at least ten doors running of it and at each of the corners further corridors ran off leading to other parts of the complex. Eventually Esus stopped in front of one door.

"This will be your room," Esus said, opening a door to allow Harry in, "you will be issued with your kit in the morning."

It was small, smaller than his room at the Dursleys but then at least it was still larger than his cupboard. There was not much furniture, only a small bed in the corner which barely counted as a bed. As well as the bed there was also a small bookshelf with a couple of different books on it as well as a desk and a chest in the corner that Harry imagined was for the storing of clothes.

"If Murad allows it you will be granted more furniture and eventually an upgrade to a better room," Esus said, "but that all depends on pleasing him and the Nazgul so I suggest that you be on your best behaviour."

Harry nodded, vaguely satisfied. He would be able to survive this until he escaped, as long as he did not have to do anything to immoral or unpleasant and he had to admit the promise of better accommodation and learning material was tempting. He might just play good boy long enough for him to get to his feet and learn some more about this world in which he had found himself.

"I would advise that you do not try to escape," Esus warned, "you would never make it out of the citadel, let alone out of the city. I shall return for you at dawn."

With that cheerily thought he left, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts. Throwing himself down on his bed Harry tried to clear his mind to allow himself some precious sleep.

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Next time: Lessons, confrontations and allies.

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**AN: Next chapter is already on its way. I thought I would have Harry learn a lot in Mordor, thought that would make it more interesting than just being ambushed on the way there. **

**T Horn**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry wondered whether the Sun ever reached the spires and towers of Minas Morgul, the Tower of Dark Sorcery, because he had seen very little indication of it so far, the bright summer sun instead being masked by the gloom that seemed to permanently settle over the valley.

This was his first morning in the city, he had been woken supposedly at dawn had a quick breakfast of porridge before parading with the rest of the cohort in the citadel courtyard. That was where he was now, waiting to be dismissed and it had been the lack of light that had brought on his wonderings. He had been woken over an hour ago and that was supposed to be dawn but there was no sight of any earthly light, other than the eerie green.

"Cohort, fall out!"

Harry followed the other members of the cohort back to their barracks though as he was about to walk through the door he was met by Esus.

"Murad says you're to come with me to get kitted out now," he explained.

Harry followed the older wizard down a series of passages until they came to a room which Esus opened with a set of keys from his belt. Inside Harry found himself in a room which had shelves and shelves of uniforms, clothes, belts and shoes.

"Take two sets of robes, two belts, three sets of under robes, a pair of boots," Esus listed, "four shirts, one set of training gear and one set of battle armour."

Doing as he was told Harry moved through the rows of shelves collecting all the items that Esus had told him to, being careful to not forget anything. The robes he was issued with were very like his own Hogwarts' robes although they had markings on them that his own did not. The battle armour was what really interested Harry though, for it was made of toughened leather which had runes stitched upon them protective spells if Harry was to guess.

"Got everything?" Esus asked.

Wordlessly Harry nodded, he had collected everything that Esus had told him to. Stepping back out of the room Harry played around with his new kit, feeling the stitching and hems as the older wizard relocked the room. Beckoning Harry he proceeded to the next room along which he unlocked with a key from the same set, to reveal an armoury.

Racks of various weaponry lay around one edge; swords, daggers, maces, axes, pole arms, fails, morning stars anything that could possibly be called a weapon. Harry, fascinated by these objects which he had only ever seen in history books or in displays, approached them and started inspecting each sort, marvelling at their sharp edges and guiltily wondering what would happen if someone was hit over the head each of them.

Harry turned round to look for Esus and saw the shaman standing in front of another rack on a different way, one which contained rows upon rows of different staffs of different sorts, some glowing with crystals of multiple colours, others which crooked stems and even a couple which burnt with an everlasting flame.

"You will need a selection of those," Esus said, motioning over to the racks of weaponry, "anything in particular catch your fancy?"

Harry shook his head before thinking, he was not a muscular guy and some weapons such as a mace, an axe or a morning star which relied mainly on physical strength were out and so that left pole arms and swords, of which the former was very unwieldy and not quite as cool, leaving Harry considering only the former.

"I think a sword should do," Harry relayed his thoughts.

Giving Harry a quick shrewd glance as if measuring him for a moment, Esus turned back to the rack of swords, took one out by its handle and threw it to Harry, who caught it deftly. It was light, not quite as light as the sword of Gryffindor but still not as heavy as Harry had feared. He flipped it around several times in his hand and gave it an experimental swing as if removing someone's head.

"Is it easy?" Harry asked.

Esus raised his eyebrows, "Is what easy?"

"Killing someone?" Harry clarified, "I mean with a weapon, up close rather than far away with a spell."

Esus stopped what he was doing and sat down on a crate and thought for a moment before replying.

"Killing somebody is never easy," Esus spoke as if to himself, "to look into a man's eyes and a moment later rob him of the life that you see within, to watch as his soul drains away with his blood and his body return to mere dust. Some men enjoy it, I don't; I recognise the need to kill but when you have seen a true killer at work then you never will enjoy it.

At this point he paused for a couple of moments as if remembering something or someone whilst Harry waited for the continuation that he knew was coming.

"My first kill was to defend my tribe," the other man continued, "we were being raided by some bandits and I killed one. It is easier I suppose that way, when your first kill is of a none human or done to protect something you value, that way you feel that the act was worth it no matter how horrible it was. You feel that you are able to justify your actions."

Harry understood that, that was how he had felt about the orc he had struck down with the Killing Curse. He had justified the curse with the general behaviour of the orcs, considering how they acted and what other foul deeds that one would have committed if Harry had not killed him. He knew he could kill again, indeed probably would, but he hoped that he would never reach the stage where he enjoyed putting other through misery, and he swore to himself that as long as there was another way he would try and take it.

"Here this is yours now," Esus throwing something at Harry.

With his seeker skills Harry caught it instinctively. It was a staff, the same one as had been used by the orc fire mage he had killed. It was made of twisted blackened ash that wound its way up to a peak, where a small ball of flame was glowing within the confines of a glass orb, held to the main staff by the twisting of the wood. He gave it an experimentally twirl, watching as a the red light at its tip created a flaming arc as he swung it.

"It is yours by conquest," Esus explained, "you will be taught how to use it until such a time as it is decided that your wand can be returned to you."

"When will that be?" Harry asked eagerly.

Esus shrugged, "that will be up for our superiors to decide but act good and work hard and it will be more likely to come quicker."

Harry sincerely hoped it did, because he felt extremely naked without it. Whereas all the other magicians here had some skill at one sort of weaponry or another, Harry did not and that made him unarmed around them, a feeling he did not like especially with the hostility currently being directed towards him by many from the Mordor cohort.

"Why do you not have a staff?" Harry asked, he had noticed that some of the cohort did not use staffs or wands to use their magic.

"There are different types of magic user, just as there are different types of magic," Esus lectured, "you are a wizard, your magic you use through a foci, such as a staff or your wand. Wizards are the most common form of magic users, and on average on of the least powerful. However some are extremely powerful, such as the Istari on our enemies' side. If you ever find yourself in a battle with a man with a coloured robe and a staff, run."

Harry absorbed that bit of advice as well as the knowledge. So in this world there were other types of magic user apart from witches and wizards, a thought that made Harry wonder whether it was the same in his own world with these other magic users having found some way to hide themselves from wizards as well as muggles.

"Sorcerers are spirit users," Esus continued, "they are powerful in places where there are lots of spirits lingering around, for example the sight of a battle. Their magic is one of the most versatile, requiring no particular spells only intent and willpower."

"So you are a sorcerer?" Harry guessed.

Esus shook his head, "yes and no, I am a shaman or a witch doctor, a particular type of sorcerer. I can only use spirits of my tribe's ancestors, as well as my knowledge of herbs and potions. On my own turf where the spirits of my ancestors dwell I am strong, but here I am weak with distance between me and my homeland."

"What are the Ringwraiths?" Harry asked curious.

His new mentor looked uncomfortable, "those classifications are used only for humans really, but the Ringwraiths are all of them and more; necromancers, spirit wielders and some of them are wizards, using their rings are their focuses."

Esus opened the door and both of them left the room, pausing a moment so that it could be locked once more before they continued on back in the direction of the main part of the building. As they came out back into the central practice ground Harry saw it was mostly deserted apart from some people reading on the benches around the walls and a couple of the younger Haradrium warming up with swords in the centre of the ground. As he watched he saw one of them preform a perfectly smooth forward flip over a target, slashing at its back mid-air as he spun. The other was going through moves slow motion, perfecting each one making it look like some sort of dance.

"What are they doing?" Harry said, watching the intricate movements with fascination.

"It's a particular type of swordsmanship," Esus replied, "called the Water Dance, its movements are all about fluidity, swiftness and smoothness of strikes and blows. What they are doing now are some of the training exercise movements, limbering themselves up and preparing for their proper practice. Talking of which, how are your own sword skills?"

"Non-existent!" Harry replied, embarrassed.

Esus sighed, "well we will have to rectify that. I suppose you prefer archery then?"

"Never touched a bow in my life!"

Harry was slightly afraid that this would happen, that they would find out that he knew how to do none of this things that were obviously second nature to most whom dwelt on this earth. The only time he had touched a sword had been in the Chamber of Secrets and even then Harry was pretty sure that that would not count as a proper sword fight.

"Can you at least ride a horse?" Esus asked hopefully.

Harry wordlessly shook his head and Esus collapsed back against the wall with his hands over his face, deep in thought.

"So I have got to teach you how to ride, fight with a sword, shoot with a bow, as well as teaching you all the magic you need to learn," his mentor clarified, "as well as teaching you history, geography, languages, herbology and potions uses?"

"Yes," Harry said meekly.

He could do potions and herbology of course, but that had been with plants from his world and even then they had only ever studied plants and potions which were native to Britain, or at the very least northern Europe. The present climate he was in was not typical of northern Europe, being much more like the Middle East, topics in herbology that you did not get onto in Hogwarts until you got to NEWTs.

"Well, we better get started then!"

***********The Traveller**********

Harry sat at his desk, an open scroll in front of him as he tried to focus on the words instead of allowing his mind to wander as it was at the moment. Unexpectedly instead of trying to teach Harry how to use his new staff Esus had sent him back to his room where apparently a selection of the history of Middle Earth had been set out for him.

It wasn't that the history was boring, in fact it was so much more interesting than what he had taught in History of Magic back at Hogwarts. No the problem was that Harry was sure it contained heavy biased, sure everything mentioned happened probably but every retreat was made to sound more like a tactical step back rather than a defeat. In addition it was a bit of a let-down after he had imagined being able to learn some new and interesting magic, because the majority of the magic he had learnt at Hogwarts had been pretty boring in comparison with some of the magic he had seen here. After all which teenage boy wouldn't prefer to know how to summon a demon familiar rather than change the colour of a teapot.

Harry closed the scroll with a sigh, he really was not in the mood to study rather he wanted to just sit there and consider his life. He was regretting using that Killing Curse so much, before when he had used the Cruciatus Curse he had had an excuse what with Sirius' disappearance, but this time he didn't, rather he had just struck him down without a thought. Sure he didn't regret killing the orc, in fact he was rather glad he had for now he had seen what sort of creatures they were rather it had been the way and the method that he had used to dispatch him that caused him the discomfort.

Now he was most likely going to be taught new, powerful and dangerous dark magic and he did not know how he was supposed to feel about. What would Dumbledore do, that was Harry's immediate reaction? Dumbledore had hated the Dementors with such a passion that it would not be unbelievable for him to hate the orcs had he seen what Harry had. So killing the orcs wasn't the problem, rather it was the dispatching of them. Harry reasoned that if Dumbledore was going to kill someone he would do it as humanely as possible and what was quicker and more humane than the Killing Curse?

Deciding that Dumbledore would not have been too angry or disappointed at Harry for using the Killing Curse on the orc, he decided that he use it on them again only if he had to otherwise he would use some other method of dispatching these blights on world peace. As to the learning of the Dark Arts, well surely Dumbledore would, if he were in his situation, learn them and never use them. That was the idea situation, he learnt the stuff and didn't get killed whilst at the same time it would not be able to corrupt his soul because he wasn't actually casting the spells.

The other matter that was taking up much of his thoughts was Sirius, if Harry had been thrown through the Veil and ended up here alive, would the same have happened to Sirius? Was his godfather wandering around this new world like Harry himself was? If so would Harry be able to find him and where should he start looking. All of those thoughts set Harry's mind turning, and he decided certainly to put a lot of work into learning the geography of Middle Earth so that when he was free from here he would be able to go and find Sirius.

He already missed his friends; Ron's slowness, Hermione's cleverness, their fights. He missed Hogwarts with all its spires and towers, with its safety, a place where he did not need to worry that he would not survive the next day as was his fear here. Most of all he missed seeing something familiar, for nothing in this world was relatable to the one had grown up in.

A bell shook Harry out of his thoughts and he hurried out of his room, and down the stairs to the training ground. Esus had told him that when the bell sounded it was for lunch and Harry was starving. Much as the accommodation the food you were served depended on your power and status, for example Harry got a thin slice of beef with his mashed potatoes and some vegetables whilst the lower level magical equivalent of grunts got what looked like old toughened gristly pieces of horse, if they got any meat at all.

Harry found a spare seat next to one of the legends of the cohort, Shagar the Magnificent as he liked to call himself. Shagar was of the deep south, further south than anyone else in the cohort had even been and he said he came from the deepest south that it was possible to get, not that everyone believed him. Like most of the deep south he was dark in colour, not quite what would have been called black in Harry's home world but certainly darker than Esus. He was old, once again he made claims that he was over a hundred though hardly anyone believed this claim, his hair was white and his face wrinkled. But as much as people disbelieved many of his stories, none disagreed with the fact that he was powerful.

He was probably the most powerful of all the sorcerers in the cohort, not only that but he had great skills of leadership from decades of tribal wars in his homeland, honing his skill not just as a warrior and sorcerer but also as a war leader. He claimed that he was undefeated on the battlefield, and this was a claim that many including Harry were willing to accept.

"Esus said you have a meeting with the bastard Murad this afternoon," the man said cheerfully, "looking forward to it, aren't you?"

Harry shook his head and Shagar laughed. It was one thing that Harry had picked up very quickly, that Murad was not liked among the cohort, or rather among its non-Númenórean components. It was perceived by most that he had received his rank not because he was powerful or because of any skills of leadership that he might possess, but because of his birth and his parents. It wrangled with many of the Haradrium that they had put under the command of a Black Númenórean, and even worse one that got his position through whom his parents were. Most agreed that Shagar should have become the commander of the cohort, but politics demanded otherwise; the Númenórean families of Harad would not be pleased to learn that their sons had been placed under the command of a 'barbaric tribesman', no matter how suited to the role that tribesman was.

"He doesn't seem to like me much," Harry said.

Shagar nodded sympathetically, "tis only to be expected, you have caught the eyes of many and there are some, particularly among the cohort, that would see you replacing him as leader. Hell, with your green bolt of death you caught the eye of the Lord of the Nine himself. Friend of mine says that it is Death Magic, which is why everyone is so obsessed about it. Murad will be shitting himself that the Witchking will have him replaced with you."

It was not the first time that Harry had heard all of this, many had commented that he was a potential to succeed Murad though most said that that would happen when Murad was promoted further. To many he was the perfect compromise; powerful yet humble, not Númenórean but of appearance similar enough to be taken as one, he had caught the eye of the Ringwraiths and yet had not come out of the experience dead, or worse.

"Oh since you have arrived you have caused our dear commander so many headaches," Shagar said amused, "he tries to isolate support for you, only for you to turn it round to your benefit."

This Harry hadn't heard before and he was confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You think Murad placed you in the Jaffarian sub cohort randomly?" Shagar raised his eyebrows, "he knew he couldn't place you among the Numenoreans, too many of them would love to replace him with you so he put you in a Haradrium sub cohort with no political power, one member and little support. What's more than one member is a witch doctor, strong at home but weak here. He imagined that you would not be popular among us, however you manage to turn it all round so that you have the majority of the Haradrium on your side."

To be fair Harry did not think that he himself was the one responsible for that, he suspected the wiles of Esus and Shagar to be behind his surge of support among the Haradrium. It showed itself in the smallest of gestures from people offering to help him with something he was struggling with or else giving him extra food at meal times.

"Oh I hardly think that I am responsible for that," he said tartly, glancing sideways out the corner of his eye.

Shagar smirked, "well thank you, and nice to see you have a head on your shoulders, should make the whole process easier."

"It would have been nice to have been asked whether I wished to be part of a planned mutiny before," Harry replied, slightly aggrieved.

The other man however waved it off, "we've been planning this for a year at least, we have just been waiting for the right person to turn up. You were better than we expect, what with the Nine taking an interest in you like they are."

Harry glanced across the courtyard to the other side where the Númenóreans were gathered. In return he was met with looks, some hostile whilst other curious and a couple pityingly. Harry imagined that they stemmed from the fact that they believed he was a Númenórean stuck among the barbaric Haradrium, rather than in his proper place with them.

There were not too many of them, from what he could see and from what he had been told they made up around a quarter of the cohort. But their strength stemmed not from numbers, but from other advantages like their blood, which made their connection to their magic all the stronger, and their heritage and their links both back in Harad and to higher positions of command in Minas Morgul.

They were fearsome enemies and Harry had yet to meet the most powerful among them, the ones that served the Dark Lord personally in his tower at Barad-dur, such as the renowned Mouth of Sauron, a Black Númenórean so powerful it is said that he has lived for hundreds of years. Should the Haradrium manage to succeed in their little coup, it would not be finished just at the death of Murad.

***********Eternal War***********

Murad's office was smartly decorated, captured armour and artefacts of war hung around the room as well as numerous banners, captured and otherwise. The light from the windows on the far wall was like the rest of the natural light in the citadel green, but through some effect of the glass was less violent in colour than was normal. The captain sat behind a desk just below the windows, with a huge banner of the Red Eye of Mordor over his head, the two lesser flags of Harad and his own family flanking it.

From the office alone Harry could see where Murad's loyalties lay and to whom his dedication belonged, banners of defeated Gondor regiments, foes of the Dark Lord for millennia hung around the room in disgrace, in lower ranking to the Eye which dominated the room. To Murad his loyalties to his country and his family were nothing compared devotion to the Dark Lord. He was of Mordor, before he was of Harad or Black Númenórean.

"A drink?" Murad offered, motioning to the seat in front of the desk, "I have some wine Rhunic wine, if you wish?"

"No thank you," Harry refused politely.

His captain shrugged, "suit yourself, you don't mind if I help myself."

He was pouring himself a glass from the flagon on a side table before Harry could reply, obviously not caring less whether Harry cared or not. Returning to his desk he settled behind it and fixed Harry with a careful gaze, one which had the young wizard shifting uncomfortably.

"You wished to see me, sir," Harry said as respectively as he could.

"Yes I did," Murad said, looking into his glass, "I have been here eight years, Potter, eight years since I left my family home at the age of sixteen, and so now at the age of twenty four I am in command of cohort of the Eye. How do you think I did that?"

Harry shrugged, not sure he would be able to give an answer that would not anger his commanding officer, which no matter how said commanding officer felt towards him was not a good idea.

"No? You don't know?" Murad continued unsurprised by Harry's silence, "very well, I will tell you. Some fools say I got my position because of my parents or else my heritage, and to some extent that's true but it's not the whole truth. The truth is that I got my command and I held it for one reason; because I was ruthless, ruthless and ambitious."

Wisely choosing to hold his tongue and not interrupt Harry allowed Murad to continue, becoming more and more disturbed as the other man spoke.

"Do you think that you are the first person that the Haradrium have tried to set up to replace me," he didn't wait for Harry but continued without pause, "because you are not, by my count there have been at least five. And do you know what happened to these five?"

Harry wordlessly shook his head. He didn't and he didn't particularly want to, but knew that Murad would tell him anyway.

"They are all dead!" Murad said harshly, taking a sip of wine, "some I killed myself, training accidents officially but everyone knew the truth. Others I sent on missions I knew they would not come back from. The question you have got to answer now, is whether you want to end up like them or whether you accept my leadership and position and with it earn my patronage?"

Silent the younger wizard made no comment, weighing up his choices and wondering which would be the right one for him to choose. He had no wish to die, particularly when there was a chance that Sirius was wondering around somewhere, waiting to be found.

"Do wish to continue being a puppet, Potter?" Murad said distastefully, "because that is what we both know you are, a mere puppet of the Haradrium. Don't you wish to be back among your rightful people, for you may not be a full Númenórean yet it is clear from your appearance as well as your magic, you are a descendent of them. Do you not wish to be back among your equals, rather than your inferiors?"

"You were the one who placed me among the Haradrium," Harry was unable to prevent himself from pointing out.

"A mistake," Murad admitted with a nod of his head, "and one that I regret, but are we negotiating now?"

Harry considered for a moment, surely it would not hurt if he were to make a deal with Murad? He could always go back on it later, and there was no reason that the Haradrium would ever need to know about it. He could even try and get his wand back, which would put him in a strong position no matter what happened.

"Even if I join with you, they'll just find someone new," Harry pointed out, "better to have me there who could tell you what is going on, who their leaders are and what they are planning?"

Murad blinked, before replying coolly, "you offering to spy on the Haradrium for me?"

Harry nodded, "in return for better privileges and the return of my wand, then I would be willing to spy for you."

Honestly Harry could not care much for the politics that seemed to pervade every corner of this city but at the moment his prime object was to ensure the return of his wand, and if spying for Murad was the best way of doing so then he was quite willing to do all the spying necessary.

"I can assure you of the better privileges," Murad said slowly, "but the return of your wand is something that is up to our Lord rather than a mere servant, faithful though that servant might be, such as myself?"

"Oh but I am sure you could persuade the Lord of the Nine," Harry said confidently, "say it is necessary for my development or whatever, just something that will give him back my wand! I would be happy without the better privileges, if I got my wand."

Murad nodded, "very well I can see what can be arranged!"

"Thank you," Harry said overjoyed at the thought of his wand being returned.

"Shall we shake on it?" Murad said genially, offering his arm.

Harry hesitated before clasping, almost immediately being pulled of balance as Murad pulled sharply on Harry's arm pulling him into his own so that his mouth was next to Harry's ear. Reaching his arms around in a show of pleasantries, Murad whispered threateningly into Harry's ear.

"Remember, Potter," Murad hissed, "if you ever, ever think of betraying me I will ensure that you curse the day your mother spawned you into this world."

Quickly separating himself from the officer's embrace Harry hurried out of the office and back in the direction of his own room. That meeting had revealed much to him, and he hoped to the bottom of his heart that Murad would follow through with his promise to deliver Harry's wand. Until the moment that it was back in his hand, he was secure.

There was also something else he now knew beyond any doubt, that there was no chance that he was going to serve under that bastard for any longer than he had to. Whether that involved deserting or going through with the plot, well that would depend on later events. But for now Harry clung to that fact and began to make his plans.

* * *

Next time: Training, more confrontations, and decisions.

* * *

**AN: This is no longer a rewrite, simply because it has got so overwhelmingly different from the original not just in this chapter but also the ones that are coming. So this is now a completely new fic and I will continue with the other one as well.**

**As for time period this is a little longer before the Fellowship than the original, around five years. That would make Harry around twenty during the events of the War of the Ring, although he is not actually going to be in the Fellowship (which was always going to be the case in the original, mainly because every fic has him in and I didn't want that).**

**T Horn**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Cover your left side," the man bawled, "now duck, move your feet more."

Sweat dripped from Harry's brow and ran down his back, soaking his shirt, as he desperately tried to block his opponent's attacks and make some of his own. It had been a month since he had arrived at Minas Morgul, and it had been a month of solid training, using both his weapons and magic.

His daily routine was a killer; he rose with the Sun, which Harry estimated as rising around six and went to bed well after it had set. Seven through to eleven was solid weapons training, followed by four hours in which Harry was supposed to self-study history, geography and the languages for the Sun was too hot for all the effort that needed to be put into physical training. Harry's magic lessons with Esus continued from three to six and then from seven to nine. From nine to eleven was a further two hours self-study. It was almost too much, Harry swore that it was killing him slowly.

Physical training was the worst by a long way, Quidditch did little to improve stamina, strength and speed, after all the broom was the thing doing all the work. Because of this Harry suffered badly at first whenever it came to some sort of physical exercise, of which he got a lot of as he was taught to use a sword, a bow and how to use a staff as weapon as well as some unarmed combat. It made a difference Harry noticed, not just on his skills but also on his body, as muscles which had previously been unused were built up and hardened, not particularly big or impressive compared with most people but more than most wizards ever achieved with their lack of anything that resembled hard physical exercise.

The studying of history and geography was something that had a lot of focus in Harry's mind, considering his plan with Sirius and it was going ok. Esus had made it plain to him that by the end of the month he would be expected to have a in depth knowledge of the first two ages of Middle Earth's history as well as a complete knowledge of its geography, and so far it looked like he was going to be able to do that. Languages were the other things that Harry had to learn in this period when the midday Sun was too hot for anything else. The language he knew and spoke as English was here in Middle Earth called the common tongue or just common, apart from that though he was being taught to speak Black Speech, the language of Mordor, some of the numerous dialects of the Haradrium tribes and a little bit of Númenórean.

A sword swiped particularly close to Harry's neck and he had to lean back in his heels to avoid it. His opponent, one of the Haradrium tribesmen, came again at him and Harry avoided his swipe with a duck and then seeing his opportunity slipped under the man's arm and unable to wield his sword probably because of the lack of room, drove the hilt into the man's stomach. He did quite have the strength to totally wind the man but he still knocked the air out of his lungs.

However Harry's finishing stroke was still met by his opponent's blade and Harry surprised by his continued resistance was unable to block the man's other hand which came up in a fist and clocked Harry around his jaw. Dazed slightly, Harry fell back which allowed the other fighter to suck in a deep breath and get back onto the offensive.

Blow after blow Harry had to block desperate as he was forced back again and again. He was tiring quickly, not used to such periods of continuous exercise and as his arms grew heavier and heavier his blocks became more and more last minute. Harry was totally unprepared when the tribesman lashed out with his foot, catching Harry hard between the legs and causing him to fold over in agony. Moments later a blow connected with the side of his head and all Harry knew was darkness.

Harry had no idea how long he was out for but when he did wake up, he opened his bleary eyes and looked at his teacher for a verdict.

"You're getting better," Esus said grudgingly.

Grinning madly like an idiot, Harry leapt to his feet only to fall back down again as he experienced a massive head rush. It didn't matter though, finally he had got something apart from 'needs improvement' or 'heavens help you if you ever have to face someone armed only with a sword'.

"Right, you know the drill," Esus grunted, "Shagar is waiting in your room for you, he is going to be testing you on your Haradrium."

Harry nodded and returned to his room, wiping his brow free of the sweat that the exercise and heat brought on. He felt guilty and it had been something that he had been wrestling with for several days, mainly because he found that he was enjoying his time in Minas Morgul. The company was good and he was learning many things that were extremely interesting and fun to learn. Sure he knew that when it came round to putting these new skills into use he would not enjoy but that had yet to happen and his days were spent training hard with people he was coming to count as his friends.

Sure enjoy Harry found Shagar waiting for him outside Harry's room, lounging on the rail overlooking the training ground.

"You did well down there," he complimented Harry, "of course it will take several years before you get anywhere near my level, if at all, but hey we all can't be me."

Harry's punch to the arm was greeted by a deep laugh. Of all the Haradrium it was to Shagar that Harry counted himself the closest, why he did not know though perhaps it was to do with the other man's amusing character or else like Harry he hated his purpose here. Shagar believed that he should be with his tribe, fighting their wars instead of fighting a war hundreds of leagues from their hunting grounds, but here he was drafted in because of his reputation and there was nothing he could do about it.

"You heard the news yet?" he asked as Harry opened his room and they entered.

Harry shook his head, "which particular piece of news are you referring to?"

"We are going to be heading out soon," Shagar elaborated, "the whole cohort from what I have heard, somewhere to the north. Some are saying we are heading to Angmar for a strike down from the north, whilst others say it is to take back Dol Guldor."

Harry considered both of these options carefully, both had their obvious tactical advantages; Angmar would allow the Dark Lord to mount an assault on his old foes in Rivendell, the elvish stronghold as well as allowing him to wipe out the last traces of the kingdom of Arnor, the old northern kingdom of Gondor. Dol Guldor also had its own advantages, many enemies lay within its range two, particularly the elven kingdoms in Lothlorien and Mirkwood as well as the city of Dale and the Dwarven kingdom of Erebor.

"Which do you reckon it will be?" Harry speculated.

Shagar shrugged his old wearied shoulders, "could be either, not that it particular matters. We go where we are told to go, we die when we are told to die."

"So war," Harry said unhappily.

Shagar actually smiled, "aye, it will be good to get back into field again. It has been ages since I last had a proper fight, I'm beginning to be afraid that I would be too old for the game when it finally came round."

"War isn't a game!" Harry hissed angrily, "people get killed!"

Shagar raised his eyebrows, "I would most certainly disagree. In war there are winners and losers, that makes it a game."

"Is life a game as well then?" Harry challenged.

"Of course," Shagar replied with a laugh, "it is the great game, the game where death is the end and a man's only purpose is to survive as long as he can, whether that be in life or in the tales written about him which he leaves behind."

Harry frowned, "what about living a good life?"

Shagar shrugged, "what's the point of living a good life if you are not living at all? No it is better to live an evil life and be alive, than try to live a good one and end up dead."

Sighing Harry collapsed back onto his chair. It was one thing that made life in this new world so very interesting, the complete contrast between the cultures he knew, both wizarding and muggle, and the one had come to get used to, despite the occasional surprises it threw his way.

The priorities of people is this world came as a real culture shock to Harry; the world he knew might list their priorities in the order morals, family, country and then wealth with perhaps a little distortion. But in Middle Earth everything was different, it might go family, country, wealth and then morals. Even then the morals of this new world were so completely alien it bothered Harry, a murder against a man who was a member of a family your own has a feud with was not counted as murder, but rather a man doing his duty.

Slowly he was coming to understand it, and through understanding it come to agree with it in the context of this world. Middle Earth was more brutal than either the Wizarding World or muggle Britain, and so whilst there you would not expect your family to end up slain to the last child here that was a distinct possibility. Thus killing to protect your family or tribe had become acceptable.

Harry knew that in this world he would gladly kill to find Sirius, to protect him and to get both of them back to the world he knew.

*********The Traveller***********

Lunch had come and gone and now Harry was standing his spine straight in front of a man he was slowly becoming to hate more and more, but until he was able to escape from this place then he was going to have to work with him.

"So what news comes from the camp of the beasts?" Murad said as what he had just said was funny.

"There are rumours of moving out," Harry said, gritting his teeth as his friends and colleagues were insulted by a man whom he had no respect for whatever, "they say we are going to either Dol Guldor or else Angmar."

Murad just said there, slipping on his goblet of wine as normal, "and which one of those do you think it is?"

Harry shrugged, "either is tactically understandable."

"Yes, I suppose they are," Murad mused to himself, "and what of our little revolution, how was the news affected the plans for that?"

"The revolution has been put on hold for the moment," Harry said uncomfortably, "many hope that you will either be killed in the fighting or else seriously disgraced, and then the plan will be put into action depending on your successor."

"And I am sure that if there is a chance during the battle then there might be a little bit of friendly fire?" Murad guessed astutely.

He wasn't wrong, orders had been whispered out that should any get the chance then they should slid a dagger between the bastard's ribs or else 'accidently' hit him a spell, the more painful then the better.

"You have done well," Murad said, putting down the goblet and coming round to the front of the desk, "very well indeed, and good service demands reward does it not? You will be placed in command of one of the sections when we move north and there shall be some other smaller rewards coming your way as well."

Harry saluted stiffly and walked out of the room, cursing his luck about having to work under the command of such a complete and utter arse. Which was only made worse by the fact that unlike many other such arses, Fudge and Lockhart for example, this was one was relatively cunning and clever.

Heading down a series of courtyards Harry went out in the direction of the training courtyard as it was time for a little bit of magical training. He had learnt a lot over the last couple of weeks, starting off with a little bit of element work from his new staff. According to Esus, that much like wands he had the staffs allegiance when he had defeated its previous master and so it allowed him to use a small portion of its elemental magic. When he had first heard this he had wanted to go and find another elemental of a different sort and win his staff from then so that he could use that sort as well, but had been persuaded out of it by Esus for the time being.

Harry had made a far bit of progress with it as well, of course he was never going to compare to an actual elemental but his fire work was still quite impressive. Using the staff he could send fireballs of varying size as well as throw up a wall of fire to block any incoming objects. Harry desperately wanted to learn how to do the firewhip he had seen Voldemort do at the Ministry, but unfortunately the staff was only a very basic one and could only do a couple of spells.

On another matter Harry had received his wand back around a week after his first meeting with Murad, strapped up as it was in a cold metal that seemed to freeze Harry's hand whenever he touched it. He had been told that the metal was wraith iron, which the Ringwraiths had specially enchanted to increase the power of Harry's death magic which seemed to continue to be a source of fascination for them, something given their state Harry understood.

There were many downsides in this new addition, first of all a lot of magic that Harry would have deemed a little more 'light' magic, for example the Patronus Charm, were now almost impossible to cast Harry getting little more than a fine mist when he tried. To make matters worse the only bit of death magic that Harry knew was the Killing Curse, and he had resolved to use it as little as possible so the metal straps had very little actual benefit.

The main benefit however was that Harry was now free to use his wand without fear that it was just going to fall to pieces in his hand. A lot of the spells he knew were still off limit, the metal made the wand very stiff and cumbersome, not what was needed for spells which required delicate and complicated wand movements. Transfiguration and a lot of charms then was mostly impossible, complex as they were, though Harry could still do some of the basic charms such as the levitation spell.

As Harry walked out onto the training surface he saw a crowd had gathered and were looking at a group on the other end expectantly. Harry had to push through a couple of the lower ranking Haradrium to get a better view and when he saw who it was he groaned.

Standing there in front of him was the same orc who had challenged him on his first day of arrival, the one who had been a part of the fire elemental subgroup of the Mordor cohort and the one who had expressed a desire to kill him in retaliation for the one of their own he had slain upon his arrival into this world. The orc was sneering at the assembled group with an undeserved air of superiority and Harry had to resist an urge to wipe the sneer of the creature's face.

When it could sight of Harry its sneer changed into a growl of hatred and the mood immediately turned hostile with more than one member of the cohort reaching for their weapons. Númenórean or Haradrium, they were not going to give one of their own over to such foul and base loathsome creatures as a mere orc.

"'ello little whiteskin," the elemental spat onto the ground, "you 'nd I 'ave been allowed to 'ave a little fight, cos you killed ma spawning brother."

Harry frowned, "I was under the impression that such things were forbidden, am I to presume that has changed?"

"You won't speak so pretty when I finish wit' ya, whiteskin," the orc growled, "da Lord has given permission for me, Ragz da Mighty, to burn yah."

Harry's frown deepened, what had he done wrong that the Lord of the Ringwraiths had decided to allow the duel, or was it some plan of Murad's? It was not that Harry was afraid of losing the duel, indeed it was quite sure that he would be able to win quite easily. What worried him was who he had insulted so badly that they had allowed a duel, something which was normally forbidden.

"What time?" Harry said, openly calm as his mind continued to go through possible causes.

*******The Traveller********

The combat arena at Minas Morgul looked like something that had been taken straight out of Roman history book on the Colosseum. Stone benches formed stands overlooked a sandy arena below them, whilst at one end was a box for the most important spectators. The seating area was divided into three, one for each of the cohorts probably in an attempt to prevent fights between rival supporters from breaking out.

The opposite end of the arena from Harry was dominated by orcs, thousands of them both magical and normal crowding to watch the bloodshed. When Harry stepped onto the sands he was met by boos and hisses from that direction which he found relative easy to ignore, used to it as he was from Quidditch matches. Fortunately the jeers were drowned out by the roars from the other two cohorts, the Easterlings and Harad cohorts apparently having a history of supporting each other for the simple reason that they were both human, as opposed to orc.

His opponent came to arena with various catcalls and cheers coming from the large number of orcs that were crowded around his side. Harry watched the orc carefully, making sure there was no signs of any foul play, that being fairly common among orcish duels with the distinct lack of honour that they had.

Ragz was not a large orc at only around five foot for which Harry was grateful, it should give him a little bit of advantage should the fight evolve into something a little more close quarters than a wizarding duel. As Harry watched the orc strutted in front of the crowd, wearing new robes which were clearly just out for the occasion, receiving cheers as he did so. In response the human population retaliated with insults and jeers, reminding Harry of the main reason that these duels were banned not because of any death of a competitor but rather the fights that broke out between different groups of supporters.

With a shrug the orc divested itself of its cape and robes, leaving in just a loin cloth decorated with flame stitched onto it and runes painted onto its chest in something black which Harry strongly suspected was another orc's blood. Another much smaller orc came scurrying forward and offered Ragz his staff which he took out with a flourish, showing it off to the assembled crowd.

Harry frowned, something was wrong he could sense it but he could not work out what it was until his gaze was caught on the staff in the orc's hand. It was no ordinary staff, Harry could feel the power rolling out of it and suddenly he was a lot less confident in his up and coming victory.

"That staff," Harry asked Shagar, "can you sense it?"

His companion frowned before concentrating on it for a moment before his eyes widen in a way that would be comical if it was not for what the look entailed.

"Aye I can," the old chieftain said seriously, "there is more power in that thing then there ought to be, more than that measly orc could wield so how did it get it?"

Esus who was standing a little further back, whispered, "apparently the Witchking gave it to him, specifically for this duel. Why I don't know but there are many that say this is Murad's doing."

Harry was now very off balance, Murad trying to kill him he could deal with if not understand why, the Lord of Minas Morgul on the other hand was a completely different matter. Thinking hard the young wizard tried to remember when he could have possibly slighted the wraith king but came up blank.

For lack of better idea, Harry went back to studying the weapon try to think of a way in which he could counter its power. As he looked at it there was something that looked a little off to Harry, something that was not quite right. The staff looked a little tall for any orc let alone this one which was quite same, if anything it looked like it was more suited to a human….. Harry remembered what he knew about staffs, defeating their owner resulted in the staff's loyalty changing hands, so that meant someone wanted him to have it but knew that in order to use the staff's fire properties Harry would have to win it from a fire element.

If Harry was to guess then he would say that this was the first of his rewards, a new really powerful fire staff to replace his own pitiful one. For the Witchking and Murad this would solve two issues with one stone, first of all Harry would be rewarded but second of all the duel should prevent tensions from bubbling over and affecting the coming campaign. Suddenly there was movement on the balcony and a Ringwraith swept in accompanied by all three of the cohort leaders. From where he was standing he could not tell which Ringwraith it was but really it didn't matter.

"Take places," the commander of the Easterling cohort seemed to be officiating.

The crowd bayed for blood as Harry and his opponent took their positions, Harry keeping a wary eye on the staff which was beginning to grow with a red light. The various supporters, including Esus and Shagar, took this opportunity to disappear back up onto the terraces where they would be less likely to be hit by spell fire.

"Begin!"

The words had barely left the Easterling's mouth when a huge fireball came racing towards Harry who managed to avoid it by throwing himself to the ground. However before he was able to get back up and go on the offensive another attack was being thrown at him, this time a fire whip. The fight continued in this pattern for several minutes, Harry defending and totally unable to get away a single attack. Right now Harry needed a distraction and in a moment of genius came up with a plan.

"Accio! Accio!"

Before they could react two orcs were dragged from the terraces and down into the arena. One was a normal orcish soldier armed only with a pole arm, the other was a relatively low level earth elemental.

"Imperio! Imperio!"

Moments later both were under Harry's will and he directly them to attack their comrade, causing roars of laughter or shouts of outrage depending on which side of the arena you were listening to. The guard was able to spear Ragz in the side before the other orc was able to do anything. Black blood dripped onto the sand of the arena drawing roars of approval from a thousand throats. The fire elemental however was not down and the guard was engulfed in a fireball, his crisp body collapsing to the ground to roars from the other side of the arena.

Now the momentum had changed, Ragz was busy defending himself desperately from the combined attacks of the earth elemental and Harry. Now it was his opponent who was too busy defending to attack and Harry was free to unleash all the magic he could in an attempt to bring down his opponent permanently.

Suddenly Ragz managed to get an attack away, a huge fireball that made Harry throw himself into a running leap to avoid, which he managed to do. However in that moment his concentration lapsed and his imperio charm on the earth elemental broke and it regained its senses, outrage and anger being the most obvious emotions it was feeling from the look on its face and it started casting spells at Harry which he was forced to avoid in addition to those already being thrown at him by Ragz.

Deciding that the other elemental needed neutralising before it could distract Harry in a way that would get him killed, Harry maneuverer himself into a position from which he could strike at it. During an ever so slight lull in the fire Harry made his move charging directly at the earth elemental, pausing only for a moment to collect the spear that had been abandoned by the guard.

Spear shaft met staff in a battle of staves, Harry twisting his body to put his newest opponent between himself and Ragz, who snarled in fury. Launching a dummy high strike Harry forced the orc to expose his body allowing Harry to bring his knee up into the creature's groin. Obviously orc males have much the same anatomy as human males for it immediately doubled over and Harry brought the spear down into the base of its neck, the head bursting out just under the elemental's chin.

Approval greeted this latest blood spilling, and Harry marched forward a little more confident towards his target. Ragz wasted no time by sending a fireball at Harry which he easily swerved to avoid.

"Serpentsortia! Serpentsortia! Serpentsortia!" Harry whispered subtly.

Three great black serpents slithered out the end of his wand and down onto the sand below.

"_Kill the ugly one!" _Harry whispered in parseltongue, "_and I shall see you rewarded!_"

Watching their progress across the sand Harry distracted his opponents attention with a series of minor hexes. He got lucky with one shot as he summoned a sword from the crowds which slashed Ragz viscously across the shoulder, causing more black blood to spill onto the sand to the joy of the crowd. Just as the snakes were about to strike at the heel of the orc it noticed them and raised his wand to engulf them in flame, but Harry, realising that he needed to make a move quickly, raised his wand and cried out.

"Avada Kedrava!"

The bolt of green bolt immediately drew an appreciative murmur from the crowd as it distracted the orcs attention allowing the snakes to strike. The first got Ragz in the heel, the second in the flesh just below the heel and the third sunk its fangs deep into the orc's thigh. Its legs giving way beneath him, the orc collapsed to his knees, accidentally crushing one of the snakes beneath him but allowing the remaining two to strike at his exposed chest.

Harry walked forward and positioned his wand between the orc's eyes, watching as the life slowly began to slip from them as the venom took hold. Deciding to give his opponent the final mercy, Harry casting a piercing curse directly into the creature's brain. It took a moment for the body to fall to the ground but when it did Harry reached down and picked up the fire staff, grinning with victory as heat flooded through his arm and up into his body.

"_And our reward?" _one of the serpents hissed.

Harry glanced down at the body of his fallen adversary, "_he's all yours, him and the other one!"_

With a sharp turn Harry greeted the adulation that was coming from his side of the stands, ignoring the depressed looks on the other side. The Harad faction would be bragging about this for months, giving it the edge in the factional politics until his victory wore off.

* * *

Next Chapter: Missions, murder and plotting.

* * *

**AN: This fic with move at a much greater place than my original, it was one of the comments I received about the other that it took too long to get going (a comment I agree with). That said I am going to be careful not to hurry it so if it starts to seem like that please tell me. Either way I hope you enjoy it.**

**T Horn**


	5. Chapter 5

**An: Right first off an apology, sorry for the time it took to get this chapter out. My hard drive just one day started whirling and beeping, not working, and so I had to rewrite this chapter, unfortunately motivating myself to write a chapter I had already written as so much harder than doing it in the first place, hence why it took so long.**

**So apology over I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Chapter 5

The old fortress of Dol Guldur stood high on the cliff face before them, looking far out over the great forest of Mirkwood which lay to the north. Down in a gully by its base were gathered a hundred beings, cramped down close in the cover for fear of being spotted by any of the sentries on the walls above them.

"Captain," one whispered to the man next to him, "we have five minutes before the signal."

The captain nodded, "go prepare the men then, have them make not a sound or else we are all dead!"

Turning his emerald green eyes in the direction of his commander over far to the left of them, staked out below another of the fortress walls the captain waited for the signal to attack. Harry had been appointed to a command on the mission as a sign of his growing star within Minas Morgul; he was leading the right flank of a three pronged attack that was aimed at retaking the old fortress from the mixture of Beornings and rangers who held it in the name of the White Council, the Dark Lord's principal enemies and the chief manipulators of the forces of the realms of men.

A hundred orcs and thirty of the cohort wizards were under his command, the same mirrored on the other flank which was under the command of Shagar whilst Murad held the centre with all of his Black Númenóreans and over two hundred orcs. Harry's orders were for his forces to launch a quick attack up a gully that led up to the castle, scale ladders and capture the walls and from then make their way to the gate to open it for the forces of Murad coming up the main road.

As he waited in that small hallow for the signal to attack Harry started to consider what he would do next, should he have the chance to make that decision for himself. Soon after Harry had been given access to the great libraries at Mordor's disposal he had spent days in them, searching for any clue, spell or ritual that might help him to return home. His most recent forays, though had not strayed into such territory, for something was holding him back slightly. It seemed slightly to him as if he was almost afraid that he might find something.

It was not that he didn't want to go back, rather that recently more and more of his explorative side was coming to the fore, learning new stuff and making new breakthroughs because of the difference of the magic which he knew. Back home he would never be able to indulge in such delights, never having the brains or the knowledge, that might allow him to start explorations into new area magic. Nor was there anything else to discover out exploring, it had already all been seen and noted, discovered and recorded.

Here in Middle Earth there were so many things to see that no one in his world had ever seen, so much to learn of things which had never been learnt in his world and so much to discover when practically everything in the muggle and wizarding worlds had already been discovered, at least for those without multiple degrees and masters. Hermione might have been able to discover things back home, but it was only here that Harry was beginning to taste the fruit of being truly different.

"Your staffs, milord!" came a voice from behind Harry.

The young wizard turned and saw his servant, a young son of one of the other members of the cohort. It was a relatively common practice to put a more experienced wizard along with the child as another as sort of like apprenticeship or a squire to a medieval warrior. The boy held out both his fire staff and the earth staff that he had taken from the elemental he had slain the duel.

His orders were to make sure that everything maintained intact, there was to be none of the usual looting and burning. First of all because they was to be there headquarters for the next couple of weeks and secondly because there was something in the library that the Dark Lord really desired and heaven help anyone who would burn it. Therefore Harry attached the earth staff to his back, doubting he would use it but wanting a second weapon whilst he once again checked his wand.

Suddenly there was a flash of light and Harry raised his arm, only barely perceivable in growing light of the last couple of hours before dawn broke. As one his men rose and hurried in the direction of the gully, the orcs taking the van whilst the wizards fell to the back. Should the defenders have left any surprises for the attackers then it was the cheap and common orcs who would be the cannon fodder rather than Harry's own cohort.

The orcs scampered up the slope at a much quicker pace than their human comrades could follow at, so that by the time they were half way up Harry and his cohort were only a quarter of the way there. As the orcs scurried forward there suddenly came flicks of light shooting out from the head and sides of the gorge, falling down among them. Harry jumped as one of them struck the ground beside him, fizzing out on the rock.

"Fire arrows!" Harry shouted, "aim at the source of the lights!"

The first few volleys had done little to reduce the number of the attackers, but it was after these that the danger came. For the attackers were now illuminated by the bodies of their burning comrades and so the defenders could pick them off one at a time.

Now however the need for secrecy was gone, Harry ordered everyone to break into a run as the object now became getting to the wall as quickly as possible before the alarm was raised. As the leaders reached the head of the gorge the arrows stopped as the defenders were forced to retreat to prevent themselves from being caught outside the walls.

Harry spurred the men around him into a run as they made the last ten metres or so to the base of the wall, where because of the steepness of the angle they were protected from the arrows coming from the walls above. The orcs were already climbing the ladders and beginning the escalade, the official name for an attack on a wall with ladders,

Looking around Harry located the men he needed for his plan. His orders had been to take the walls through the escalade but Harry knew that that would be slaughter; the tightly packed hand to hand fighting on the wall tops not being the ideal fighting group for magic users. Not only that but also such a plan would take time as the attackers would have to fight their way to the gatehouse to open the gate. So no, Harry concluded that was not what he was going to do, instead he was going to send the majority of the orcs up the ladders as a diversion whilst he and his magic users attacked a small side gate on the edge of their section of the wall.

Tapping each man in the shoulder Harry nodded in the direction of the gate and the small group separated from the rest and crept along the wall to the gate. Several of his sorcerers stayed behind, casting their spells to keep the defenders' heads down and prevent them from seeing what Harry had planned.

They crowded around the gate, Harry kneeling down and putting his eye to the gap between the huge oak doors, looking the locking mechanism. Sure enough Harry spotted it, a huge piece of wood that acting as a bar. Harry grinned in relief this was exactly what he had hoped it would be, a bolt would have been too difficult to do. Putting his wand to the gap, Harry murmured.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The heavy wooden bar inched upwards, freeing itself from its brackets. Harry had a bit of a fright when the block seemed to disappear from his sight and he thought it had fallen to the floor but he soon caught it again.

"Carefully does it," Harry murmured to himself as he levitated the block.

Sweat trickled down Harry's brow despite the cool night's air as he fought hard to maintain control of an object which he could not see and set it down noiselessly on the ground. The slightest noise and the defenders would be able to turn the gate area into a massacre. Therefore the whole company let out the smallest sighs of relief that they could when Harry allowed the block to fall to the ground with the quietest of thuds.

Harry nodded and oil was poured on the hinges and the door was inched open wide enough to allow the attackers in enter. Finding themselves in a tunnel that led to the main courtyard Harry paused for a moment to send two men into each of the guardhouses on each side to make sure that there was no chance that an alarm could be raised and the gate shut behind them.

Stopping again near the edge of the tunnel Harry glanced around the courtyard and was relieved to see that there were no defenders, the majority of them already on the walls. Glancing up in that direction Harry saw that the fight there was going the way of the defenders which only served to lend them all the more urgency. He broke out into a run, his men following behind him, running right across the courtyard.

As he reached the gatehouse Harry sent more men into the gatehouse to raise the portcullis and kill any defenders they found. Within moments the massive grid of iron and wood begun to lift and Harry ducked underneath it. There was no need to use magic to lift this bar and the gate was thrown open allowing Harry to step outside and throw up the signal, a large flash of green fire.

Almost immediately whoops of sadistic pleasure leapt up as the horde of barbaric, bloodthirsty orcs charged forward, eager to get their share of the slaughter. Harry retreated into the shelter of the gatehouse watching with disgust as they swarmed forward and begun their work. The defenders desperately trying to retreat to the relative safety of the citadel were cut down as they fled.

"I hope you aren't waiting for anything, captain?" came a coolly dispassionate voice from beside him.

Harry turned to see Murad standing their regarding the slaughter with pleasure in his eyes. Feeling the other wizard's gaze on him, Murad turned back to look at Harry and with a nod indicated what his orders were; prove your loyalty and kill.

Grimacing Harry stepped forward and made his way through the mass of bodies, looking away as he saw men pinned down and slowly cut up piece by piece. Soon Harry found himself on the front line as some of the defenders stopped and desperate tried to buy time for their comrades to escape to the citadel tower.

Raising his wand Harry struck down one of the defenders with the killing curse, before opening another's chest with a cutting curse. However just as he did so one threw himself bodily at Harry and grasping Harry's wand, threw it away out of reach. The two of them tumbled to the ground, rolling for a little bit before stopping Harry trapped under the body of the much heavier man. Arms pinned to the ground by the other man's knees Harry's head rang as a fist collided with it at pace, followed by another and another.

Harry reached for something, anything with which he would be able to defend himself against the onslaught of blows that were raining down upon his chest and face. Already blood was pouring down from his nose and his chest hurt terribly so Harry was sure that he had, at the very least, a cracked if not broken rib.

His finger closing on something hard, Harry swung it as hard as he could in the direction of his assailant's head. The rock in his hand connected with the man's temple with a sickening thud and also immediately the blows on Harry ceased and the man fell off him onto the floor, stunned. Harry rolled himself up into sitting position and with his eyes still blurred and his vision faulty, the young wizard drove the rock again and again down upon the helpless body of his enemy.

The fogginess on his mind beginning to lift as the effect of the blows wore off, Harry forced his bruised eyes upon to take in the sign around him. The attackers seemed to have managed to have taken control of the citadel courtyard although many of both sides lay motionless scattered around the ground. Harry glanced down at the figure of the one who had almost killed him.

Harry had killed before, he had first killed when he was eleven and since he had arrived in this world the number he had slain had risen dramatically. But before he had always killed with magic, the Killing Curse or perhaps a cutting curse, always relatively bloodless, never before had he beaten a man with a stone so that his head cracked like an egg and the grey matter of the brain was mixed with blood and broken pieces of bone fragment. Unable to take the horrible sight before him, Harry turned to the side and emptied his stomach onto the stone beside him.

"Harry, come we need support," Esus shouted from the other side of the courtyard, "we still have to take control of the main tower!"

Harry staggered to his feet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and made his way to where his older companion was standing. The citadel tower loomed over them, a great tower of sorcery it had been in the days when it had been occupied by the Dark Lord however in the days since it had housed those who were keeping the fortress from falling back under his control. Or rather those who had been, for now the Dark Lord wanted it back and it looked like he was going to get it.

Running over to where a group was gathered near the base of the citadel now Harry glanced over the door that he was supposed to be getting them past. His examination made him frown as he took in the door before him, he could feel the magical enchantments on it that would make breaking it open with a ram hard. Furthermore it was not as with the gate a bar that held it shut but a series of bolts which Harry would never be able to open magically.

He sighed, this was no door which Harry could just magically lift the bar off, nor could he just blow it open for the enchantments ensured that such a spell would require far more power than he was able to channel through his wand. Just at that moment he saw barrels of lamp oil in the corner of the courtyard and came up with a plan. Levitating the barrels he threw them against the door, splashing the flammable liquid against the fortified door and then drawing his wand he cast a quick incendio and set the whole thing ablaze.

Already Harry and the rest of those assembled outside could hear the panicked cries of those inside as they were forced to retreat due to the heat and smoke which even now was radiating from the door as the fire did its work.

With the door weakened by the fire as it was it did not take much for it to be finally broken open and the attackers to pour through. The citadel itself was a huge tower that stretched high up into the sky with only one set of stairs which climbed all the way up to the top with the rooms coming off of it. The fight degenerated after the first minute or so of armed resistance until it became more like hunting rats in their holes, ferreting them out so they could be cut down by dozens of blades. As Harry climbed he became to smell something in their air that set his neck air on edge; smoke.

"Harry, the library's ablaze!" Esus shouted panicked from one of the side corridors.

Harry swore violently, they were under strict orders that there would be no damage done to anything inside the fortress. He had though that the fire would consume the door and then stop, having nothing else left to consume he had never thought the fire would spread. In fact he was pretty sure that it hadn't….

"It's the defenders!" came a shout from the left, "they are burning the castle down rather than let us have it!"

Harry swore again, a single fire would have been easier to contain but this new situation was not, as for every fire they put out the defenders would just light another one. It would only end when they managed to hunt all of them out from their holes and that could take hours and there was no telling how much damage the fires would do it that time.

"Hunt them all out then, and don't let them set light to anything or it'll be our flesh that the orcs will be feasting on!"

Suddenly Harry caught movement out of the corner of his eyes, something scurrying up the stairs at great haste, robes billowing behind it. In an instant Harry was after him, racing up the stairs to catch this defender before he set light to anything. The younger wizard was closing the distance on the older man and as Harry burst through a roof hatch, he knew that he had caught him.

The two of them were standing on a platform, the top of the tower, which had been chiselled flat for some sort of dark ritual or the like, with four pillars supporting a cone shaped roof. From high up Harry could see over the stretches of Mirkwood which lay to the north and then far to the east he could see the mighty range of the Misty Mountains, stretching out almost as far as the eye could see

The he saw the other man, hunched over in a corner, his knees tucked under his chin and his hands running a set of prayer beads through his hand. Harry walked over to him, his mind trying to draw up his wand but his morals defying him. The man was old, at least sixty with a white beard and an ink stained white robe. The fingers which were passing beads between them were not those of a warrior but those of a scribe or a priest. Now as he stood over the huddled body of the old man, trying to bring himself to cast a spell to end the other's life, he found that he couldn't and his wand remained by his side.

In that moment Harry allowed his conscious to take control as he took in the bedraggled, unarmed figure beneath him. A second however was a second too long in this brutal world as with Harry's hesitation his captive moved and Harry had to gasp back a scream of agony as the scribe's knife buried itself in his shoulder.

"Fucking bastard," Harry swore violently.

The knife was deep but it was narrow, the blade in question being a letter opener, that didn't stop it hurting like a bitch though. The old man had got to his feet and was backing away desperately taking in the sight of the enraged, wounded and blood-soaked wizard before him. Harry however was in no mood for any forgiveness or mercy, having seen what such emotions had landed him with only moments later; his wand snapped up and the old man was hit with a powerful banisher that threw him right of the roof.

Harry waited several moments for the satisfying crunch of the body hitting the stone courtyard below before he shrugged off his armour and examined his wound. The narrow blade had slit right through a small gap in his armour and had a narrow but very deep wound in the fleshy part of Harry's shoulder. Ripping a bit of his shirt off Harry quickly bound up the wound in a makeshift bandage and reached for his armour.

Suddenly there was a ringing sound and Harry's senses became dazed. His whole body ached from multiple bruises and he was no longer standing, having been thrown down onto the floor. As his senses returned, Harry took in the sight of two boots standing in front of him. There was something very familiar about those boots but his confused mind could not quite grasp it. The figure however began to chant harsh sounding words, and as Harry watched from his low view a cloud of vile looking black smoke hit the ground and began to creep tentacle like in Harry's direction.

The black smoke wrapped itself around Harry, pinning his arms to his side and pulling him in a more upright position. Harry however, his mind clearing, knew exactly what was happening.

"Murad!" Harry growled, "you bastard, I am going to kill you!"

He could not believe it, the first time he had taken one off his own back and someone had stabbed him in it, not quite literally at least not yet. Fury flowed through his veins, anger both at himself and at his commander.

"Now, now Harry," the Black Númenórean said condescendingly, "no need for such language is there?"

Sudden movement and a whirling noise from the stairs and attracted Harry's attention as a knife came spinning at them at great speed. Harry ducked but the throw had never been aimed at him in the first point, shown as it buried itself into Murad's back. Shagar emerged from beside the stairs, his arm raised having just thrown the blade.

As Murad's concentration turned from Harry to facing this new threat, the enchantments holding Harry in place began to lose their strength and after a couple of moments Harry was able to break loose and he quickly put some distance between himself and Murad. The three of them circled around each other, Shagar and Harry looking for some gaps in Murad's defences whilst the Black Númenórean looked for some way to attack without presenting them with those gaps.

Harry moved first sending a stream of lesser spells, cutting and stunning spells mainly, at his commander as he tested his defences. Murad brushed those away with impunity and launched a huge ball of black energy at Harry, which the younger wizard was forced to dive out of the way to avoid. Shagar meanwhile had fallen back slightly and was muttering under his breath, clasping a spirit broach in his hands, obvious deep in a great summoning whilst using Harry as a shield and distraction against their opponent.

Harry and Murad spent a couple of minutes exchanging flurries of spells, causing only minor damage such as lesser cuts, concussions and bruises. Neither had yet to give the other a significant advantage and neither had yet progressed to going out, afraid that their opponent might answer with the same. Harry knew that he had to be very cautious, Murad might not have gained his prominence through magic might but he got it through pure ruthlessness and a willingness to use whatever magic was necessary to achieve his ends. The wizard knew that he could expect some really, really dark magic to be coming at him.

Then quick as a snake Murad unleashed a bolt of black fire which leapt at Shagar, causing Harry to curse himself as he realised that Murad's attacks had been specifically aimed at forcing Harry away for his companion, separating the two of them. The young wizard moving quickly to form a protective shield for the sorcerer, realised his mistake. Murad's aim had not been to force them apart, but rather to do so to force Harry to open his guard when he moved to defend his companion.

For a moment that guard was open but Murad caught it, blasting Harry off his feet and sending him flying through the air, finally crashing only just able to prevent himself from going over the edge. Harry gasped and rolled himself away, but winded was unable to get back up to his feet, forced instead to watch the scene before him.

Shagar was obviously nearing the end of his spell, as dark, horribly black smoke poured from the locket and begun to condense into a cloud hovering a couple of foot in the air, swirling round and round like a small tornado. However when Shagar opened his eyes they widened with horror, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

He was not the only one who was worried, Murad had reacted to this storm of black mist by launching everything he could at it but to no avail, it just swallowed everything up or else spat it out at speeds far faster than it had gone in at. Murad even wrenched Shagar's throwing knife from his back and attempted to kill the sorcerer with it, hoping that doing so would end the spell, yet the blackness just moved, protecting its conjurer.

No spells were flying now as both Harry and Murad had stopped their own fight and were watching the summoning with extreme caution, as for all its power there was something extremely unpredictable about sorcery. Unpredictability that was soon realised as all three of the watchers, the summoner included, took in the sight of the suit of black armour beginning to form in the mist.

A spirit warrior.

To all but the most widely read, these apparitions were considered to be all but a legend, a myth to scare the young and inexperienced to keep them from doing something a summoning more powerful than they were able to control, but forming there in front of them was living proof. Spirit warriors, some said they came from the souls of cursed warriors, men fated to walk the earth until the day of final judgement, others said they were the spirit of the world, coming to judge mankind for its sins.

Their summonings were almost always mistakes, for none truly wished to summon a spirit warrior, a creature that was infamous for being impossible to control and almost always turned on its summoner, thereby claiming the first of its victims. Rampages and slaughters were the hallmarks of a spirit warrior summoning, almost none were without them. The few that were ever called on purposefully were by those sorcerers about to die or who had nothing left to live for and wanted to take down as many of their enemies had possible. More often however it was a mistake as either the summoner tried a spell too difficult for him or he failed to pay proper respect and attention to the spirits he was summoning.

Beside Harry Murad was desperately building up a huge ball of something that looked extremely dark. The younger wizard did not get what his commander was planning to do, a mere spell would not be enough to kill the spirit warrior. Then he saw, it a spell would not be enough, but the death of the summoner would weaken it enough so that it could be easily finished off, so if Murad were to blow them both of the roof then with Shagar's death the force of the impact on the ground should be enough to kill the spirit warrior.

Harry desperately tried to make the decision, should he leap in and save his friend from being blown off the building or else should be not and so allow the defeat of the hellish creation that had been summoned. Harry made his decision, leaping from his place on the floor and throwing himself across the platform.

Leaning down he grasped Shagar's knife from where it had fallen after Murad had attempted to throw it at the spirit warrior, and leaping on his commander's back he throw it once, twice and then thrice into the Black Númenórean's back. Blood gushed from the wounds, soaking into Harry's clothing and staining his hands with the dark red liquid.

An agonised scream caught Harry's attention and brought it back from his hands as he saw the spirit warrior wrench its dark black blade from out of Shagar's stomach, the man's intestines already visible as they began to fall out.

"NOOOO!" Harry screamed as he dashed forward, desperate to do something, anything that would stop what was happening.

A cold iron fist smashed into his face almost before he moved as the heavily armoured figure covered the ten metres between them in almost a blink of an eye. Harry felt pain spreading through his body as his body collapsed under him from the strength of the blow. His head reeling, it was all Harry was able to do to keep himself upright for a couple of seconds before he fell, his head hitting the ground with a sickening crunch.

Then as he lay there trying to recover he felt a cold armoured hand grip him by the throat and haul him up into the air. The young wizard found himself looking through the visor of the helmet into red eyes that seemed to burn of ice and fire at the same time. Their eyes met only for a moment before Harry was raised up and then slammed back down onto the hard stone floor with speed, every bone in his body seemed to ache with the impact.

Harry felt himself going as the cold iron fist slowly squeezed the life out of him. His own fists beat useless on his attackers back, their blows going unheeded by the red eyes that glared through their visor into Harry's.

Then he accepted it, Harry accepted that he was going to die. There was nothing he could do about it and now he had accepted it there was nothing he wanted to do about, he was not going to go down flailing his arms around like a windmill instead he would die with dignity. His blows stopped and Harry glared back with all the effort he had been putting into defending himself. Red eyes met emerald green, as the two began a battle of will as Harry had his life choked out of him.

Suddenly everything went black except for the two eyes in front of him. Something seemed to hit Harry in the face, something that felt like a flood. But it was no water that was engulfing him, but emotions, that flood of emotions that only those who were mad were truly able to endure all at the same time. Anger, rage, hatred, pain and self-loathing all hit Harry as the flood poured out from behind those red eyes.

He felt the beings anger and rage at being trapped in this frail body, he felt its pain as it bonds bound the spirit to the armour and as it was forced to do what its summoner commanded. The young wizard felt the spirit's anger at the world for allowing its creation and its envy at their freedom for even a captive in the deepest, most secure prisons still owned its soul. Then there was the self-loathing, the ultimate insecurity and hatred at the its own perceived weakness as it proved too weak to resist the summoner's call, too weak to be able to prevent its imprisonment and too weak to escape now it was trapped.

Then there came the memories, memories of a time before it had been trapped in this metal cage when it had been free to do the things it had wanted to, when it had floated through the air as free as it was possible to be. Those memories only served to increase the spirit's misery and suffering as it remembered what it had once had.

Harry knew he was quickly becoming endorsed and ensnared by the memories of the spirit, as he experienced things that no human had ever seen or done. But he had to get away, already the young wizard could feel the icy grip of something on his mind that seemed to signal his end. Before he was going though he made one last attempt to escape, to get himself away from the mind of the spirit so that he could die with his conscience in his own body. He pushed away as hard as he could, pushing his conscience against that of the one that dwelt behind the red eyes, desperate to free himself so that he could rescue his body from having the life torn from it.

The night air felt cool on Harry's face and he knew that he was out of there. The cold fingers of the spirit warrior were still closed around Harry's neck but the wizard had some strength which before he felt that he was lacking. He seized his opponent's arms, pulling them away from his throat. There was little resistance from the spirit and Harry watched as it collapsed onto the ground, unmoving and utterly motionless, defeated not through strength of body but rather by strength of mind and will.

Harry sat up, rubbing his red neck where bruises were almost certain to show and looked around the high platform. Seeing Shagar's body Harry crawled over to where it lay, unable to muster the strength to pull himself to his feet. Touching the body he felt the warm from it and the old sorcerer stirred slightly and opened his eyes.

"Harry," he croaked, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to summon one, something took control and created the spirit warrior. You must believe me, I know better than to summon one of them."

The other wizard smiled sadly, "I believe you, little good though it will do be."

"Murad?" Shagar asked questioningly.

"I killed him," Harry admitted, "stabbed him in the back with your dagger."

Shagar sighed, "tell them I killed him, and then died of my wounds. That way you don't get in trouble for the murder of your officer and nobody knows I failed a spell."

"Arrogant as ever," Harry said, attempting the humour, "always concerned about your ever so important reputation."

Shagar tried to smile but only grimaced, "our reputation is all we leave behind on the earth, for those of us without children it is our legacy. I always try to maintain my legacy. But before I go I require one more favour…"

The sorcerer left what he was saying unfinished, not that he had any need to as Harry knew what that favour was, one often imparted to those who were badly wounded on the battlefield. The mercy of a clean death. A clean and quick death was what Shagar got as Harry slid his knife between his ribs, thrusting straight into his mentor's heart, killing him instantly.

"Farewell, Shagar the Mighty," Harry said sadly, mourning the loss of one of the few friends he had in this world.

**********Middle Earth**********

Dawn was beginning to break as Harry got to his feet, his joints aching and his limbs stiff from the time he had been on his knees. He needed to get down the stairs and see what was happening. The disappearance of Murad would have been sure to create some questions among the others, Harry did not want to miss the ensuing leadership debate.

Suddenly there was a clanking sound and Harry's eyes widen in terror as the unholy contraption of iron and spirit rose unsteadily to its feet, standing in between Harry and the only exit from the platform. There was little chance that Harry would be able to beat the spirit warrior on his own in his current state, especially not without any support from a sorcerer. He needed to get down the stairs and rally as many of them as possible before they moved to counter the spirit warrior. The iron clad figure clenched and then unclenched his fingers as if feeling something new.

"_What is this_?" it hissed, raising its arms up to its head, "_me feels_!"

Harry froze, wondering whether it had just been his imagination or whether the thing had actually spoken.

"You speak?" Harry asked, cautiously, "what is your name?"

"I am Harry James Potter of Privet Drive, Surrey," the spirit warrior said, before hissing confused, "no's me is Athyanal, spirit of the northern plains."

The spirit warrior looked up and Harry gasped in shock as he looked into the previously red eyes, now tinted with emerald green. The young wizard unconsciously took half a step back in shock, he knew what this was of course, it had been one of Snape's favourite ways of torturing him during their occlumency lessons. Imprinting; a danger when legilimency was preformed by a careless or poor practitioner of the art, where the practitioner leaves an imprint of his conscious on that of his victim. Such an imprint can act as a total or partial overwrite of the brain and thus the person, which could be used to get rid of a particular trait or characteristic. Snape had threatened to be purposefully careless with him and thus wipe out everything of James Potter from his mind.

Now he had done it, accidentally through his lack of knowledge imprinted on the spirit. To make matters worse was he had not done it properly either, only replacing part of the spirit leaving the more thing confused, not knowing whether it was human or spirit. Harry knew that slowly its control over the language would improve as Harry's memories began to soak in. Yet as he thought about this Harry knew that he shouldn't kill the spirit, that he should try to help it. Not because of some moral but rather because to all extents and purposes the spirit was him; it had all his memories, all his darkest fears had become its own, the only thing it was lacking was its body and even then it had one of its own.

"I can help you," Harry said softly, pitying the wretched figure before him, "I can help you understand, if you give me the chance."

Harry wanted to help, he too had come to a place where he was totally and utterly lost only to have someone take him under their wing and teach him. For him that person had been Shagar. Now the spirit was experiencing emotions that none of its kind had ever felt before and it needed someone to help, and that person was going to be Harry. He could not help but feel responsible for what had happened to it, he remembered how much he had feared Snape doing the same to him and so he knew that he should help.

"I wants to understand," the spirit said seeming to be arguing with the two personalities inside its head, before nodding, "I's will give you the chance!"

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**AN: There probably will be some mistakes in this and some of the writing is ****not the best, I blame it on the forced rewrite of the chapter. Fortunately I already have the next chapter written I will put it up next week.**

**T Horn**


	6. Chapter 6

**Introduction: Right now because I have increased the speed a little in this fic we are on to the beginning of the Fellowship already. Just so everyone knows all the stories I have up on my profile I am continuing to update (an accident with my hard drive held things back a bit but I am catching up).**

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Chapter 6

Shouting filled the hall as various groups jeered at each other, bombarding their opponents with catcalls and insults. Harry watched not amused from one bench at the back of the hall at the unfolding scenes of chaos and distort before him. He should have suspected that this was the way in which the election of the new cohort commander would be carried out.

Whilst of course back at Minas Morgul it was the Lord of the Nine who was responsible for choosing the next commander, out on the field it went down to a vote among cohort members. That was not to say that it was exactly democratic, more of a way of saying that the most powerful, intimidating and least hated of the cohort would be mostly likely to be chosen as the next leader.

Intimidation seemed to be one of the key tools of Middle Earth's political tool box, it certainly seemed to fit in with some of the other important tools; murder, blackmail, assassination, bribery, corruption and racist propaganda. It certainly got quite heated, Harry imagined that it was nearing the stage where very soon it would move onto the next level; namely the drawing of knifes and the first brawls.

The Black Númenóreans were refusing to accept someone who was not one of them whilst the Haradrium violently opposed any candidate they proposed. They had been at it like this for hours, and Harry suspected they were nowhere near reaching even the halfway points of the negotiations, if they could be termed at that.

Harry imagined there would be negotiations going on between different groups among the cohort, as each determined which candidate they were going to support, with promises of better food, lodgings and weapons going in return for their support. So far as eight candidates had had their hats thrown in the ring, not all of them willingly, but six of the names had been shouted down whilst the other two were only being debated so that each side could appear to be being reasonable.

"What about Potter," one of the Black Númenórean captains suggested delicately, "he's powerful enough, and of all of us it is he that will be least likely to be punished for the destruction of the library."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, causing Harry to frown. It was clear that whilst every group wanted the next commander to be one of their own group, no one individual had the desire to take up the position, fearing what their lord's reaction would be when word reached his ears that they had failed in their duty to safeguard the library. They were obvious counting on the fact that Harry was enough of an oddity and a powerful enough asset that the Dark Lord and the Nine would not kill him over the simple matter of a burnt library. Harry was pretty sure that they were being rather hopeful, but hoped himself that that was not the case.

Then there was the second reason for appointing Harry; he was young and so was vulnerable to manipulation. The Black Númenóreans needed an candidate that the Haradrium might be willing to accept but one who they might also have a measure of control over, and clearly they thought Harry was one such person.

"I agree," said Esus, standing to voice his agreement, "Harry is a good friend to Númenóreans and Haradrium alike, he will make a good compromise."

Compromise seemed to be the term that flowed through the rest of the speeches that made in support of Harry. To the Númenóreans he was not Haradrium and was known to have been in close conference with Murad at times, to the Haradrium he was not Númenórean and had always been on their side up until this point. Needless to say a vote was taken before Harry was allowed to speak, preventing him from refusing the honour, and so it was that Harry, barely having been in this world six months, was made commander of third of the magical forces of the army of the Dark Lord of Mordor.

***************In the Service of the Dark Lord****************

Eight days had passed since Harry had been made commander of the cohort; eight days of organising patrols, working out food supplies and arranging the watches. Eight days of stress and work, and now finally Harry was having his first break in a while.

He stood high up on the platform where he had fought Murad and Athyanal, surveying the land as it stretched out before him in all directions. Downstairs men feasted, celebrating those who had fallen in battle, knowing that they would soon be joined by many of those who were sitting among them. This was what war was about, wondering who would be the first to go, you or the person sitting next to you.

"What are you thinking about, milord?" his spirit guardian asked.

In the days since it had absorbed what of his essence Harry had left in the spirit guardian it had changed so much from the monster that he had faced up here on this same platform. Its new rebirth had led to a new name, Harry had christened him Prongs on account of the horned helmet which looked slightly like the prongs of a deer. At least that was what he openly said, yet both Harry and Prongs knew what it really was for; another link for Harry to remind him of home, in the same way that someone might call a new pet after an old one from their childhood.

Harry sighed, "the fact that we are at war, I can't seem to get it out of my head."

How many of the men downstairs, Harry wondered to himself, how many of them will be alive when this war comes to an end, how many of them will I have ordered to their deaths.

Old grievances, exploited by master manipulators, were the reason why many of those downstairs would die. They would die for the sins of the grandfathers tens of generations ago, just as their enemies would die for theirs. The Dark Lord's servants would preach the message of revenge and thousands of young Haradrium and Easterlings would flock to his banner, whilst the Wizards of the White Council would do the same, sprouting messages of the greater good and the evilness of their enemies, for the men of Gondor, Rohan and the northern kingdoms of men.

Thus thousands of humans would die, whilst the Dark Lord and the Elves would stand behind their walls that were the realms of mankind, suffering no hurt whilst their pawns absorbed the force of the enemies' assaults. The elves hid in their forests or else in their refuges beyond the mountains, whilst Sauron stayed resident in his tower of Barad-dur, both sides leaving men to fight their battles for them. Harry had heard that the elves were even retreating from these shores, abandoning mankind to fight a war that they started.

Without almost meaning to Harry thought back to that town, the one in which he had first arrived in Middle Earth, arrived in time to see it sacked by the forces of Mordor. Hundreds must have been slain whilst more were taken as slaves. Where had the elves been to save their allies then?

"Elves and Dark Lords plot," Harry said bitterly, almost to himself "whilst men bleed!"

Prongs shrugged, "it has always been the case, ever since the end of the First Age. Men have borne the brunt of the fighting since then, watering the fields with their blood from both sides. Why does it bother you if it has always been so?"

It was comments like that that reminded Harry how different Prongs was, that despite all there was that human in him, there was still that bit that was spirit. There was still that part of him that been in existence since the creation of this world; that had seen the rise and fall of Morgoth, the rise of Sauron and would eventually see his downfall. Harry idly wondered whether it was being immortal or being a spirit that leant the spirit that particular lack of caring, lack of humanity, when discussing the millions of men who had died over the years.

Harry knew that eventually one of the sides would get the upper hand, at the rate that things were going it would probably be the forces of the Dark Lord, and then one by one the realms of mankind would be consumed in fire and blood. Then once the utter destruction of the shields defending the elves, the Dark Lord would be able to finish it and end the races who had defied him.

He wondered whether things back home had been so different. Back home he had thought he had known who were the bad guys and who were the good, but was he right or was it more like here where everything was a little more grey. Dumbledore was not all good, he had shown that by the way he had treated Harry last year and his various failures in defending the school over the years, but if Dumbledore was not good did that mean that Voldemort was not bad, perhaps just misguided.

No, Harry said angrily, I will not think like that, he killed my parents and so many others. He was responsible for torturing of the Longbottoms, for so many orphans and for so much of what was bad in the world.

But people were willing to support him, the devil argued in his voice, sure Bellatrix Lestrange was just there for the bloodshed and the fun of killing and torturing people. But Lucius Malfoy, why would he risk his privileged upbringing and wealth, and Snape too if not for the same reasons, why would they join Voldemort for they did not seem to be the people to join for the sport of killing muggles?

Harry sighed as he looked over the beautiful view below him, wondering why nothing was ever as simple as it seemed at first.

****************In the Service of the Dark Lord*************

"Commander," Esus called from the gatehouse, "the patrol have returned, they have found someone interesting that they think you should question. They say he is a wizard!"

Harry took a moment to realise that Esus was calling for him. Heading over to where he was being called he was met half way by his former superior, now subordinate. Harry had appointed him as his commander of the guard, making him responsible for ensuring the wall and the surrounding countryside was properly patrolled and guarded in the case of any attempt to retake the fortress.

Ducking his head as he entered the guardhouse, Harry made his way over to the prisoner. Said prisoner happened to be the oddest looking person that Harry had ever seen; he wore brown robes and his face seemed to be a mass of hair right from his brownish beard which covered the lower half of his face to his huge eyebrows which covered the upper half. The left side of his face seemed to be covered in something that Harry suspected came from a bird. The wizard looked quite frightened at being in the presence of the armed Haradrium guard, but Harry was not going to underestimate him; the last person he had done that to had ended up stabbing him with a paper knife.

"He was carrying this," the watch captain said, offering Harry a staff.

It was of a wood, around six foot long and the tip of which twisted out to form what looked like several branches of a tree which had nestled in them some sort of light blue, turquoise even, crystal. Harry examined it closely, for it was unlike any other staff he had seen before; there were none of the usual markings that denoted what sort of element the man wielded. That alerted Harry that he was dealing with no mere weak wizard.

"I think I remember you saying something about watching out wizards in coloured robes," Harry remembered back to the lecture on Istari back at the headquarters in Minas Morgul, "is brown not one of those colours?"

Esus shook his head, "there are only two Istari still alive, one who wears white and the other grey, Gandalf and Saruman are their names. Who this is I do not know; there are no records of an Istari who wears brown. Besides look at him, he can't be one of the Istari."

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw an ever so slight reaction when Esus mentioned the names Gandalf and Saruman. They had been speaking in the language of the deep south and so this wizard, whoever he was, could not understand but despite that he was still able to pick out the names and it was clear that he knew them.

"You recognised those names which my friend just said," Harry said, switching to the common tongue, "Gandalf and Saruman, I presume they are friends of yours?"

"You will get nothing out of me!" the old man said defiantly.

Esus and the watch captain snorted at that, but Harry held up his hand to silence them. He drew up a chair and set it down opposite the wizard, looking deep in his eyes wondering whether he should attempt another legilimency, before deciding that it was too risky; he did want to go and imprint himself on another mind. Just as Harry was considering what to do there was a twittering and a bird fluttered in and settled down in the wizard's oddly shaped hat, twittering its song. The watch captain made a move to dislodge it, but Harry, seeing the look of distress on the wizard's face, stopped him. He had had an idea.

"You have some skill with animals," the young wizard said lightly, changing the topic completely, "I have some small skill in that area myself. People always disregard it, but I see it very much as a blessing."

The wizard looked up for a moment before it was able to control itself, and Harry could see the flash of interest in its eyes. It was just something that he had learnt it from Hagrid, getting someone to talk about their hobbies was an excellent way of getting them to talk.

"Serpentsortia!"

The green scaled shaped of the common grass snake slithered out the end of Harry's wand, settling down on the floor and curling up protectively.

"_Calm little one," _Harry hissed enjoying the look of astonishment as the bushy eyebrows leapt up the wizard's forehead, "_if you lie still, I shall get you some food and somewhere to sleep."_

Gentling, moving slowly Harry slid his arm down so that he could gently stroke the serpent's back. It hissed warily and eyed his hand suspicious but made no move to attack him. Harry gave it a couple of strokes before drawing his wand banished it back to wherever it came from, before turning his attention to his audience.

The wizard was fascinated Harry could tell as well as being a little bit jealous, as all hobbyists are when they are met by someone as equally matched as they, or as was more likely in this case possessing a talent they themselves did not have.

"Fascinating, quite fascinating," the brown wizard seemed to almost squeak, "I myself can talk to animals but they understand me no matter what language I speak, but I had never had the talent to speak in their tongue."

Harry tried to look modest, "it is a very rare talent where I am from, normally passed through bloodlines from parent to child. It is called Parseltongue, the art of talking to snakes."

"And that what is that?" the wizard asked, eyeing Harry's wand his expression changing to one of distaste.

Harry was momentarily fazed by the dislike in the wizard's tone, not quite understanding why his wand had caused such a reaction from his prisoner. It took a moment before he realised that the distaste had been aimed at the wraith iron which bound the wand together.

"Yeah, I know its wraith iron," Harry replied, "my wand will only work if it is bound together by a magical item of some sort, wraith iron was all that was at my disposal."

It was true, for a wand to be able to channel a wizard's magic it needed to be made up of purely magical ingredients and that included any additions or repairs. It was for that reason that Spell-o-tape had been invented, and why normal sellotape could not be used to repair a wand. Suddenly a guard burst through the door, waiting for Harry to come over and the prisoner to have a bag thrown over his head, bird and all.

"Milord, there's word from the south," whispered the guard, slightly agitated, "the Nine ride out from Mordor, going somewhere to the east on the orders of the Eye. To cover them the legions of the Eye have launched an assault and have captured the eastern bank of the Anduin and with it the eastern half of the Gondorian city of Osgiliath."

There were grins of delight on the faces of the men around them as they heard of this victory over their oldest foe. Harry allowed himself the slightest smile as well, the men of Gondor were little better than the Easterlings or the Harad, both of them were fighting a war neither of them needed to fight, but were being manipulated into by the Dark Lord and his elvish rivals.

"What more?" Harry asked.

Here the soldier hesitated, "there was word that before he rode east, the Black Easterling would come here, to Dol Guldur, and collect the item that the Dark Lord needed from the library. You know the one that….."

"Yes," Harry snapped, "I am fully aware what happened to it!"

Now there was an ominous silence. All men in that room knew what had happened to the library and the item that had been need from within it, the defenders in a last act of spite had burnt it all, leaving them to the inevitable punishment that would be dished out upon them when the Dark Lord heard of their failure. Harry had hoped that perhaps it would be a mere captain who would come for they were less likely to try and kill Harry with all his supporters around him, and even if they did try Harry was pretty confident that he would be able to defeat most of them.

A Ringwraith was an entirely different matter, for now not only could Harry doubt the willingness of those that served under him to defend but also he knew that he had very little chance of hoping to overcome his enemy. Harry thought for a couple of moment, before turning to the guard captain.

"Let the old man go," Harry said to the guard, "he's a hermit, he can hardly do us any harm."

The brown wizard slowly slipping from his mind, Harry began to work through plans in his head, looking for one which would not see him in a grave.

*************The Arrival of the Black Easterling*************

The Confederacy of Rhûn was as old a nation that existed anywhere it Middle Earth, for it was there is that hostile environment that the first of the race of mankind had awoken and it was from their cities here that they had emigrated westwards in the First Age to where they would come to play their part in the wars against Sauron's master, Morgoth, fighting on both sides of the conflict.

For thousands of years they had never be unified, permanently fighting amongst each other for dominance; occasionally a tribe would come to the fore but would soon be wretched back to the ground as the others temporarily united to fight this threat to their independence. Indeed the men of the plains of Rhûn were divided into different races; Wainriders, Balchoth, Easterlings and Variags of Khand.

However one man would come to unite them, rising from the peasant class of one of the smallest Easterling tribes to subdue all the Easterlings, before bringing first the Balchoth, then the Wainriders and finally the Variags under his command. Hundreds of his enemies fell to his blade and even more fell to the arms of his armies which devastated much of the east, bringing it under his control and unifying it under the banner of the Confederacy of Rhûn.

Yet history had showed what would have happened next, this great leader would have grown old or died and his successor would not be strong enough to hold his empire together for more than a couple of generations whilst his enemies unified against them. This is what would have happened, should Sauron the Great not approached Khamûl and offered him an alliance, promising eternal life as a reward but delivering only everlasting servitude. So with Khamûl the Easterling, the Confederacy of Rhûn did not collapse, rather it stood firm and bound in alliance with Mordor, brought under its sway by the commands of their king.

It was this individual who now the assembled company were awaiting. Harry stood with the majority of his cohort at the foot of the citadel whilst the orcs patrolled the walls, waiting for the sign of the arrival of the riders from the east.

When they came they rode hard through the gate, eight abreast decked in splendid uniforms of gold armour and red silk, for these were the Dragon Knights of the Easterlings, the elite of the elite and raised from boyhood in only the greatest of the Easterling families to join this, one of the greatest units of heavy cavalry in Middle Earth.

A single black horse rode out from the company, and upon it was a rider whose very presence seemed to strike terror into all those that were assembled there. A malicious intoxicating sense of death and darkness seemed to assault them, causing more than a few to find themselves trembling from fear.

"Where is Murad," the Ringwraith hissed, "does he choose not to meet me himself?"

Harry stepped forward out of the ranks of the assembled wizards, and walked towards the wraith, heart beating in his chest as the attention of all moved to him.

"Lord Murad fell in battle, milord, fell in the service of the Dark Lord," Harry replied respectfully.

"Fool," Khamûl whispered in a voice that could be heard by every man present, "then who is in charge now?"

Harry knelt, "that would be me, milord!"

From his low vantage point with his head bowed all Harry saw and heard was a crunching sound as the Black Easterling dismounted, prompting his bodyguard to do the same all around. A pair of armoured shoes, spiked at the end with a lethal looking hook appear in his view, and Harry guessed the Nazgul was now standing next to him.

"You will lead me to the library," the Lieutenant of Minas Morgul hissed.

"Milord," Harry croaked, his voice caught in his throat, "during the attack the library caught fire, nothing survived."

"You were ordered to keep it safe," Khamûl hissed angrily, "the Master wanted and you were told you would pay with your lives if you should fail him."

Harry tried to restrain the urge to shudder with fear, now he understood why nobody had been keen to assume his role. Trying to regulate his breathing so as not to appear scared, he replied at best he could through the fear with was threatening to overwhelm him.

"We tried, milord," the dementer like effects of the presence of one of the Nazgul was getting to him, "but the defenders, milord, they tried to burn the fortress when it was clear they could not hold it, we saved all we could!"

"I did not ask for your excuses!" the Ringwraith hissed.

Suddenly Harry felt an armoured hand close around his neck as he was lifted up into the air. Icy wraith iron gauntlets gripped Harry's throat, preventing the passage of air, as he desperately tried to prize it loose, his legs dangling in the air as the crowds looked on, none of them daring to move and in turn face the wrath of the famed Shadow of the East.

Blood draining from his head, light headiness began to strike reducing Harry's capacity to think and preventing him from doing anything to save himself. He desperately fumbled for his wand in its sheath on his leg. For a moment he thought he had it as his fingers brushed the hard wood, only to be thrown away as he was given a particularly violent shake by the shade which was trying to strangle the life from his body. Finally just as Harry was being to lose control over his body due to lack of air, the young wizard managed to get a grip of his wand and with all of his might thrust deep into the Ringwraith's cloak, deep into where its heart was located.

"Expecto Patronum!"

From deep inside the dark cloak bright light burst, as the Ringwraith writhed in agony. A piercing cry went up into the shuddering air, before slowing fading away to a shrill wailing, which made men grasping their ears in defence against the hurtful sound. Its crown, the great crown of the united Easterling tribes, fell to the ground with a clank and rolled away stopping at the feet of the Black Easterling's escort. Its clothing and armour fell too, shapeless now they lay on the ground, torn and ruined.

Harry's patronus burst from the fallen figure of its opponent and stood, framed against the stone of the courtyard; a shape of silver light surrounded by grey. Harry's attention lay firmly fixed on the figure before him, ignoring the pain from his still red neck, not sure how he ought to react to what his eyes saw.

For his patronus was not a stag. Instead a huge silver wolf prowled around the courtyard, its huge paws padding against the stone as it circled around Harry seemingly protecting him from any who would think to take advantage of his weakened state to attempt to attack him. But nobody moved, not even those Easterlings who until moments previously had been under the service of Khamûl.

As Harry watched his wolf prowl he could not help but feel an undeniable feeling of loss and sadness come over him. He had known of course that under extreme circumstances that a wizard's patronus could change, only if the person had changed with it, but he had never considered that his would change. It seemed like another link he had with his own world had broken, for magic had just proved that he was not that same person who had left it. He felt as if he had lost something, some part of himself that it was impossible to get back.

This change fitted of course, for much as the stag had changed to a wolf so too had Harry changed, from the Harry who had come through the Veil of Death in the Ministry to the Harry who had just assaulted a fortress, killing many of the defenders despite them doing what he had been doing up until recently, fighting against a dark lord. This new Harry was more ruthless, more deadly and darker than the one who had fought with stunning spells in the Department of Mysteries. This Harry was more predator than prey.

Suddenly there was movement as one of the Dragon Knights burst from the group and charged at Harry, sabre drawn. Before Harry or any of the other wizards could move however there was a blur from Harry's side as Prongs leapt forward.

His black blade cut through the Easterling's sword arm, removing it at the elbow, before in the reverse swipe removing the other. Another cut later the body was limbless as both legs were removed in a single slash and finally before the body hit the floor its head sailed clean off its body, landing with a thud and rolling to the feet of the man's companions. Silence perforated the courtyard as all the men marvelled at the speed with which the Spirit Warrior had moved and the skill with which it had desiccated its enemy.

"Anyone else going to reach for their weapons?" Harry asked coolly.

Almost immediately hands left sword hilts and bows were slackened, and Harry was looking into the faces of some very angry Easterlings. He knew this would not be forgotten and that he ought to be keeping an eye on his back from now on, in case they should decide to try and kill him for his regicide.

Seeing no sign that he was about to be attacked, Harry knelt by the pile of fallen robes, stooping low to pick up the fallen Ringwraith's weaponry. The large hand and half, or bastard, sword was heavy in his hands as he felt its weight; it was too heavy for him to use but he would keep it for the enchantments which were sure to have been cast upon the steel. As well as the sword there was also a small knife, however as Harry went to pick it up Esus moved and got there first, picking up the blade with a great deal of caution.

"What's so special about that knife?" Harry said, half fearing what enchantments and curses the dagger might have bound into it.

"It smells of the spirit world," Prongs hissed from beside him.

Esus carefully handed it to Harry, "tis a Morgul Blade, forged from wraith iron to form a cursed weapon. A wound from this weapon will cause a victim to waste away as he becomes a wraith, entering the shadow world."

"A wraith?" Harry said sharply, "like one of them?"

Esus shrugged, "probably not as powerful, the Nine would not create a rival to their power in their own world."

"Wrap it up and take it to my quarters, along with the rest of that stuff," Harry ordered, motioning to the pile that was all that remained of Khamûl, for even the ragged cloak the Ringwraith wore was valuable after spending so long being soaked in such a magical presence.

"What to do we do now?" Harry asked, so totally out of his depth and needing help.

"The obvious thing to do would be to fortify our position here," Esus replied, "and prepare to have a strike coming from those loyal to the White Council, that is if you don't plan to throw in your lot with the enemies of Mordor."

"I am still a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, whatever happened today," Harry denied.

Esus shook his head, "a loyal servant would have chosen to die at the hands of one of the Nine, the Dark Lord's will. Instead you fought him, making you a man of self-preservation."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but realised there wasn't anything he could say, "is there anything wrong with that?"

His erstwhile section commander grinned, "no, because fortunately so are the rest of us!"

"Right well we better go and start preparing things," Harry sighed, "we are going to be attacked on all sides now; Beornings and the men of Dale from the north, Easterlings from the east and orcs from the south and east. The Dark Lord is sure to send an army when he hears that I have killed one of the Nine."

This was an aspect that had begun to worry him ever since he had cast that fatal spell that had destroyed Khamûl. He had slain one of the Nine, the Dark Lord's greatest servants, how would Sauron react? Clearing the Haradrium were not particularly worried for they had sworn to Harry easily enough, but the only thing that Harry had to compare it with would be how Voldemort would react if someone was to kill Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy. That was not the response that Harry was hoping for.

"I wouldn't be particularly worried," Esus said unconcerned, "the Dark Lord wants only the most powerful servants and you slew Khamûl, making you more powerful than he. Most probably he will wait until you age before offering you the chance to take his position as one of the Nine."

"As a wraith?" Harry said vaguely disgusted.

Esus raised an eyebrow, "you care so very little for immortality that you would refuse it when offered."

Harry opened his mouth to answer, thinking that he didn't want to grow old as those that he loved died of old age, but closed it again. There was nobody on this world that Harry would truly miss, and those he would were soldiers who would mostly likely never die of old age and so he would find himself outliving them whether he choose immortality or not.

"It is not the Dark Lord you need to fear," Esus said, keeping an eye on the Khamûl's escort, who even as they spoke were being led out of the gate, "those Easterlings will not forget that you killed their prophesied Messiah easily, until you are in the ground."

"What should I do about it?" Harry asked, looking for a solution in his own head as well.

"There are more tribes in Rhûn then the Easterlings," Esus said, "and many of them will be looking for independence now the only thing that held them together has been destroyed. It would be in your interest to encourage them on this path, so that you could benefit from the outcome."

Harry thought for a moment, "you mean civil war?"

Esus shrugged, "tis natural for the Easterlings and the other tribes of the plains of Rhûn, there will be one whether you support it or not. However if you play your cards right then a protracted one could prevent those Easterling chiefs sworn against you to be able to do anything."

Harry nodded, deep in thought, it seemed a perfect way to escape the retribution that he knew would come. He turned as if to head back up to his quarters in the citadel tower when suddenly something caught his eye on the ground, glinting where previously the robes and weapons of Harry's fallen adversary had lain. Unheeding caution Harry bend down and picked it up, placing it in his palm and studying it.

It was a small ring, not much to look at. Just a black stone set in a ring of gold. That is would an ordinary man would feel and see, but Harry could feel so much more; he could feel the power coming from the ring and felt an innermost desire to keep it safe, to own it and to use it. Little did he know that as he picked it up the small piece of metal began to work its magic on him, trying to make him become what he had just slain.

* * *

A great fiery Eye looked on at the scene unfolding below through a small glass ball and felt sadistic pleasure run through its evil body. One of his most powerful servants had fallen, but it was going to be replaced by one who would dwarf it. This one would rise to exalted position and would help subject what remained of the elvish kingdoms and their puppets in the realms of men.

* * *

**I am pretty sure that some people will complain that I am being too harsh on the elves, but the thing is I don't particularly like them. The way they took the ships to escape Middle Earth, abandoning it to its fate, seems too cowardly for the pedestal upon which they are always put.**

**Regarding the Nine Rings of Men: Tolkien never says much about these, only that the Nine wore them and that they were responsible for Nine slowly turning to wraiths. I am presuming that the knowledge of the rings of power was kept relatively secret, even among those in Mordor. It is something that I cannot belief Sauron would want his servants to know. As far as people in the service of Mordor are aware, the Ringwraiths were made how they are by a series of dark rituals.**

**T Horn**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Haven't done one of these in a while so once again I own neither Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. Now to answer some of the questions regarding the last chapter**

* * *

**Elves - Some people I know said I was too harsh on the elves, remember though that Harry's only experience with elves has been through what his fellow soldiers in an army in the service of Mordor have told him. They are hardly going to tell him that they are perfect nice people are they? **

**Ringwraiths - This will be explored a little more in this chapter but the basic answer was that I totally forgot that they were called 'ring-wraiths' (stupid, I know). Referring to the rings it would be all very well to say that the Nine Rings would be remembered, but around things such as the Nazgul legends and stuff would grow up until it was very hard to separate was truth from what was myth, so in the end nobody would be able to say what created them. Furthermore the creation of the Ringwraiths occurred at least 3 thousand years before the events I am writing about, the Nazgul only reappeared in the last fifty so a lot of the knowledge would have been forgotten in the intervening time (much like that about the one ring) because nobody thought it was important as they were presumed dead.**

* * *

Chapter 7

(The Council of Rivendell)

"Saruman's betrayal is not the only thing that brings me worry," Gandalf warned, "for Radagast brought me word of a sorcerer who was taken the Dark Lord's fortress of Dol Guldur and has made his own. He is powerful, for he managed to permanently slay one of the Nine."

"He slew one of them?" Frodo interrupted, though many others looked ready to do the same.

The old wizard took a long puff on his pipe, "yes, Khamûl the Lieutenant of Minas Morgul. Radagast was fortunate that they did not recognise him as one of our Order, for he heard them mention both mine and Saruman's names.

"Do we know if he has truly managed to slay him permanently?" the Lord of Rivendell asked wisely, "for many have claimed to do so and have found themselves proved in folly."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows, "and how many of them can claim to having possession of the slain Ringwraith's ring."

That brought mutterings from around the room, for the tale of the Rings of Power had already been told, those things that were once considered legend or embellished history had now been confirmed as truth.

"Even we elves to the north of Mirkwood have heard word of this sorcerer," came the musical voice of the son of Thranduil, "they say he has the ability to speak to serpents, is protected by a hideous creature of iron and steel and can summon his soul guardian which takes the form of the a great silver wolf."

Gandalf nodded, "much of this Radagast told me, the creature is a spirit warrior though Radagast was unsure about how the sorcerer was able to summon it without it killing him, and the soul guardian was what killed the Nazgul."

"It does not matter what he can or can't do," Gimli said gruffly, "what matters is whether or not he will support the Dark Lord if it came to a fight. Killing one of the Nine does not seem like something a loyal servant would do."

"I can assure you, master dwarf," said Lord Elrond, "that we shall do our best to answer that question as well. Gandalf, did Radagast give any hint over this?"

The silver haired wizard stroked his beard, "no, but that does not mean anything. Radagast is perhaps not the best judge of a person, having spent so many years to himself. Indeed the only other piece of information that he passed on was the age of the sorcerer."

"Why should that matter?" Boromir of Gondor asked, "one does not tend to ask the age of their enemies before you kill them."

"Not unless it is relevant," Gandalf said mysteriously, giving his pipe another puff.

"And is it in this case, old friend?" Elrond said, smiling slightly at his friend's dramatics.

Bilbo from his little spot piped up with a laugh, "is he older than you, Gandalf, because I hardly think that possible?"

"No, not quite," Gandalf smiled, before his face hardened, "Radagast said he could be no older than eighteen, and was probably more like sixteen or seventeen."

That assessment was met with silence by those surrounding them. To everyone there that seemed extremely young; though of those present only perhaps Boromir was aware of what stage of growth that was in a normal human, for Aragorn was the only other human and he was of the old race of Númenór who could live many times the lifespan of a normal man.

"They would put a child on the battlefield?" said one of the elves from the Grey Havens, disgusted.

"Gondor are already putting men years his junior on the battlefield for years," Boromir replied heatedly, "we have had to in order to prevent out borders from being overrun by the forces of Mordor. That man of such an age is in the army is not the curious issue, it is that one of that age managed to preside over men many years his senior without any of them trying to challenge him for the leadership."

"I imagine once they saw him defeat the Ringwraith, all thought of challenging him to a duel would have fled their mind," Bilbo observed drily, "it would be the natural response."

Boromir nodded his head in agreement, whilst there were still many unhappy looks among some of the long lived among them, for whom a child was a marvellous thing and not one to be wasted on the battlefield. More than a few looks were directed at Boromir as if wondering how old he had first been when he had first seen battle.

"So what should we do about the sorcerer?" Bilbo said, "for much stomach is calling for lunch, and I am feeling a conclusion must be reached before I can satisfy it."

"Let it never be said that any elf stood between a hobbit and his dinner," the Master of Rivendell said with a fond smile, "Legolas, can you ask your father to send him an emissary on behalf of the Free Peoples, that way we can see if we can persuade him to our side and if not at least learn some more about him."

Gloin stood up, "Erebor will also send an emissary, some men react poorly when confronted with elves. We can also ask Dale if they will send one of their own as well, so all three races are represented to present a united front. It should not be that one race can hold talks on behalf of all others."

Elrond nodded gravely, "so be it!"

**********Dol Guldur**********

(Back at Dol Guldur)

The message had come only two weeks after he had killed the Ringwraith. A rider from Mordor had come in the night and refused to pass it on to any but him. It had been a letter written by the Mouth of Sauron. Its contents confirmed him as the Lord of Dol Guldur, an independent client nation to the north. The Mouth said that Sauron the Great had granted him the lands between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains to rule as his own, should he conquer them and provided that give fealty to Mordor.

The letter changed much, in the days since the Ringwraith had fallen the whole fortress and cohort had been in rather a scared mood, with heightened patrols and men sleeping with their weapons within reach. The Black Númenóreans had become sullen and insolent, obviously fearing the consequences should the Dark Lord decide to punish Harry and judge that they had seemed to be too accepting of his authority. Once it had arrived and it had become clear that not only was Harry not now an enemy of Mordor but was also an honoured servant, things had changed immediately.

"My lord," Esus shouted up the stairs, "we have something for you here!"

Harry was still getting used to this new level of respect and deference, oh he had been powerful before and had been respected because of it but he had never been respected because of a formal rank or title.

Nevertheless he quickly made his way out of his office and down the stairs, judging the sounds to have come from the Great Hall. Opening the door to grinning soldiers Harry saw Esus and a whole bunch of other Haradrium standing around a table.

"Now that you're a lord," Esus said with a grin, giving a mock bow, "we have decided that you need an insignia, a coat of arms, and rather than allow you to do it we have already decided what it is going to be for you."

Harry glanced down on the table and saw a banner laid out on top of it. It was royal blue, with delicate silver stitching around the edge and in the centre a silver wolf's head was blazoned, depicted in mid howl. Around the wolf's neck was a small medallion, the traditional Haradrium sign of a lordship. It was beautifully done and Harry appreciated how much effort they had gone to in order to get it done.

"It'll do," Harry said committedly, trying to restrain the grin that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Oh you have seen the best bit yet," Esus said grinning himself, before he nodded over to his right.

Once Harry saw what his friend was looking at he could not prevent the laugh from escaping from his lips. The Haradrium had somehow managed to convince a unwilling looking Prongs to allow them to paint his huge black kite shield, so that it now bore Harry's mark, as well as allow them to place a tabard over his suit of armour so he looked more like the knights Harry had seen in films back his own world.

"It suits you, Prongs," Harry said cracking a smile, "really did does!"

**********Dol Guldur**********

Later that day Harry was sitting down at his desk working on sums on a sheet of paper as he went over the cohort accounts. Naturally that was the job of the quartermaster, but such a job was normally used so that the quartermaster could swindle the cohort of as much as he could get away with. And so whilst Harry did not mind if they took a little bit, he was going over the accounts now to make sure the crooked man hadn't taken too much. So far he had picked up one or two ways how to falsify records, but was going to get no further as there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Harry called.

The Black Númenórean who had put Harry's name forward during the council entered, along with several of his colleagues. Harry leant back appearing casual but such a movement allowed him to slip his hand down so that it rested beside his wand in such a way that it looked natural.

"We were wondering, commander," the Black Númenórean asked politely, "whether we would be able to talk?"

"Is there any particular reason you had to talk?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

The Númenórean smiled, "we were wondering whether we could inform you of the state of things, commander, back in Harad. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Castamir of the Argonath family, my friends here are Minalcar and Valacar, each of the Númenórean families of the same name."

"A pleasure, I am sure," Harry said cordially, "might I enquire as to which particular 'state of things' you were referring?"

"Why of course, commander," Castamir smiled a smile that immediately put Harry on edge, "you see this story begins a long time ago, back several hundred years ago indeed. You have heard of the Kin-Strife of course, the civil war between the Black Númenóreans and those that ruled Gondor? Will in order to heal the division the King of Gondor at the time, a man called Tarannon Falastur, married a Black Númenórean princess."

Harry nodded, "Queen Berúthiel?"

He had read about her in one of the books back at Minas Morgul, it had only been a short passage which lampooned the Gondorian king for being a heartless monster in setting aside his loyal and extremely beautiful wife, whilst being rumoured to be preferring the company of young boys in his bedchamber instead. Harry needless to say had taken the thing with a pinch of salt.

"Why, yes you know of her?" Castamir looked quite pleased, "well, that will make things easier. You know of course that he later set her aside? There were rumours of affairs on both sides, but the plain truth was that he found out what she was, a witch. He couldn't execute her of course, that would cause a major diplomatic incident so instead he set her aside."

That made a lot more sense to Harry, he was sure that the king had found out that she practised some of the dark arts and put her aside then. The same sort of thing had happened back home, Harry was used to hearing about various monarchs, such as Henry VIII, who either executed their wives or set them aside because he found out they practised magic.

"It is an old story," Harry said unimpressed, "what does it have to do with me?"

"Well you see commander I was just coming to that," Castamir smiled that plastic fake smile again, "what Tarannon did not know at the time was that she was pregnant when she sailed back to her homeland, birthing a son. So when the throne of Gondor passed to Tarannon's nephew it passed over the rightful heir."

"And I presume that that line still dwells in Harad today?" Harry guessed.

Another of the Númenórean nodded, "quite so commander. Her Majesty Queen Taradiel dwells in the city of Umbar, and all previous commanders of the Harad cohort have recognised her as the rightful Queen of Gondor and have sworn an oath see her restored."

Harry nodded, "I will think about it, you are dismissed."

The other Númenórean looked like he was about to say something but was quickly quietened by Castamir, who nodded his consent before filling out of the door followed closely by his comrades. As soon as they were gone Harry summoned a runner and asked him to call Esus to his office. He needed advise on this one.

Minutes later his second in command appeared at the door, respectfully knocking and waiting for Harry to bid him to enter. Harry did so, beckoning Esus over to a chair in front of his desk. He waited for him to settle before he started.

"First of all what news is there from the east?" Harry asked.

Esus raised his eyebrows, "you mean from Rhûn. Well a civil war has broken out among two brothers, each claiming the throne as the Emperor, but as they fight the Easterlings' dominance over the rest of the tribes is slowly disintegrating. More than a couple have talked of a willingness to join my Lord of Dol Guldur's domain, should he be willing to accept them?"

"Why would I not?" Harry asked puzzled.

"Because there are certain obligations that are placed upon you once you accept their loyalty," Esus explained, "you would be expected to defend them against their enemies and lead their armies, not doing so would be seen as a dereliction of duty and would show that you are weak, which would be likely to lead to someone challenging you or another country deciding to invade. Both of which situations I presume you wish to avoid."

The young wizard sighed and put his hand to his head, he could already feel a headache coming on and he was not even half finished with the paperwork let alone the hundred and ten other things that needed to be done.

"Alright, I am going to have to think over that one. Now onto the next matter," Harry changed the subject, "what do you know of Queen Taradiel?"

"I presume you have just had a visit from some Black Númenóreans?" Esus asked, eyebrows raised, "the Queen is elderly, has two granddaughters and lives in the city of Umbar in a specially built palace there. She herself is very powerful and not someone to be crossed."

Harry nodded, "she rules Umbar then?"

Esus shook his head, "no, the Council of Nobles rule Umbar. In theory they recognise her as their Queen but her palace is as much a palace as it is a prison. Only a select few of the old noble families support her rather than throw their lot in with the Council."

"Families such as Argonath, Minalcar and Valacar?" Harry guessed.

"Yes," Esus said, "those families make up the majority of her support in Umbar, and within the cohort. I guess that they were the ones to approach you? Whilst everyone knows that whilst Queen Taradiel has the best claim to the throne of Gondor, should the Dark Lord win it would be ruled as a direct province of Mordor, that is if any of it is left after the war."

"So Her Majesty has very little cause to remain loyal to Mordor," Harry said in understanding.

Esus nodded, "the Kings and Queens have often been linked to some of the more disloyal elements among Haradrium and Black Númenórean society. It is part of the reason for their continued imprisonment."

"How are they so powerful if they are prisoners?" Harry asked, not quite understanding.

Esus laughed, "it is a delicate situation," he explained, "for whilst she is to all extent and purposes a prisoner, in name she is not and of course in society it is the name that matters. It is politely ignored and forgotten when in her presence, but of course everyone knows it is the Council who call the shots. Furthermore the line itself is very powerful, over hundreds of years the Royal Family has married into only the best of Black Númenórean society, the present Queen had claim to be descended from powerful sorcerers and great generals. Murad himself had actually been linked to one of her granddaughters, those now of course nothing is going to come of that."

Harry understood now, this line of kings and queens were descended from a claimant in a civil war and so their desire is to see the country back under their control, rather than under the occupation of an invading army.

"So should I write the letter?" Harry asked.

"It will put you in a stronger position within the cohort," Esus said with a shrug, "many of the Black Númenóreans here come from those families that support her, as they know that they will never get a good position within the government of Harad. But it is your choice, you are commander."

Harry nodded, "right leave me then, I need to think."

**********Dol Guldur**********

"Riders coming from the north!"

The call echoed across the courtyard where the various weapons training paused and listened for their orders. Harry waited too, before he realised that he was the one who was supposed to be giving them.

"Fall in in your position," he ordered, "nobody attack until we find out what they want!"

The north was not the direction he would have expected riders to come from, orders and messages from Mordor would have come from the south or the east and the replies to the orders of submission that Harry had sent to the nearby settlements of men would have come from the west. But the only thing that lay to the north was the forest of Mirkwood.

"They're elves!" the disbelieving shout came from the watch tower.

Elves, what the hell were elves doing coming near the fortress. They cannot have not heard that the fortress had been occupied by forces loyal to Mordor so what were they doing coming to somewhere which would surely mean either their death or torture and imprisonment.

"How many of them?" Harry shouted back, "do they look like they are planning to attack?"

"No! They are carrying a white flag! They want to talk!"

Talk, what could they possibly have to talk about with him. Should he met with them; the Dark Lord could be very angry if word reached him of what Harry had done yet on the other hand he had made Harry an independent client kingdom of Mordor and that gave him the right to conduct negotiations with whoever he wanted to do. Besides if Sauron demanded it then he could always just break them, it would not be too hard.

"Esus," Harry called, "go out and meet them, invite them in for talks. Give them promises of safety, no matter what the outcome of the talks they will be allowed to return."

"Yes, milord!" Esus obeyed his orders, but the look in his eye was one that looked like he hoped Harry knew what he was doing.

When murmurs of what Harry had said made their way around the courtyard there were howls of anger when it reached the orcs, those of them left from the assault on the fortress. The hatred between elves and orcs was not one that could just be overlooked and Harry knew that he could have problems if he did not get them under control now.

"Ragtuz," Harry called to the commander of the orcs, "control your men, elves or not they come under a banner of parley and I will not be the one to disgrace that!"

"But, milord," the orc complained, "those're elves, they're enemies of da Eye!"

Harry was about to retort when there was the sound of a sword sliding out of a scabbard. Harry turned round to see which of his men was the man responsible when he saw it was Prongs who had drawn the sword and even now was leaning on it, the pointing burying itself deeper and deeper into the earth under his weight.

The orc captain, seeing the drawn blade, sulked back to his motley group and they soon disappear to the back of the courtyard, out of side where they could not cause Harry any trouble and risk losing their heads. Only the orcs had disappeared, the men settled down relatively easily, for them this was not a big step unlike the orcs, the kingdoms of Rhûn and Harad regularly made treaties and truces without consulting with the Eye.

Three banners were the first things that Harry saw coming through the gate. One was green, covered in swirling vines and golden lettering, which if Harry was to guess was the banner of the elven kingdom of Mirkwood. To the right of it was another banner yet this was one of a horn, a bow and a sword all crossed on a shield. It was a banner which Harry did not recognise, though Harry was surprised to see it was a man who bore it. Clearly this was not just an embassy from the elves alone.

"The Kingdom of Dale," Esus murmured from Harry's side, "that who the blue banner represents, the bow is that of Bard the Bowman, who slew the dragon."

The finally one was unlike any of the others, mainly because its bearer was a good foot shorter than the others, for riding their on a large pony looking distinctly uncomfortable was a dwarf. The banner of the dwarven kingdom of Erebor, was of a hammer and an anvil with the stars of Durin above it.

Those that followed the banners were a mixture of all three races, the dwarves clad in their boxy armour and clutching their weaponry as if looking for a fight, the elves clad in rustic gowns looking over serenely at the assembled men under Harry's command, their eyes narrowing when they caught sight of the orcs huddled at the back. Finally the men rode, their eyes looking straight at Harry as they surveyed him with interest.

"Greetings emissaries," Harry began in what he hoped was a strong voice, "I am Harold, Lord of Dol Guldur, what would you say to me?"

"You really are as young as the rumours say," the dwarf said undiplomatically.

"Age means little, otherwise even the oldest would be put children in the eyes of others," Harry said glancing at the elves with curiosity.

The lead elf nodded, "it seems that wisdom can touch even the young. Greetings Lord Harold, I am Orophir, son of Liedir, daughter of King Thranduil of the elven realm of Mirkwood."

"I am Bareon," the man said bowing his head slightly, "emissary of King Bain of Dale.

"And I am Dwalin, son of Fundin," a bald heavily tattooed dwarf said gruffly, "I come from King Dain of Erebor."

Harry bowed his head, "welcome all of you, I would offer you a feast but I am afraid I can offer you very little. We did not expect visitors."

With that the young wizard led the emissaries through into the citadel to his office, having given orders that their men should set up in the great hall and for food to be brought for them. Needless to say his own men were watching their counterparts carefully.

**********Dol Guldur**********

"So," Harry said carefully seated in his chair behind his desk, "what would the Kings of Mirkwood, Dale and the Mountain have with me?"

His three guests were seated on the other side of his desk, their chairs carefully positioned to allow Harry time to draw his wand should the negotiations sour. Each had been offered some wine and food, though only the man and the dwarf had accepted, the elf had frowned slightly at being presented with meat, but Harry was not in the mood to offer him anything else.

As it was Harry was pretty annoyed about this whole thing, first of all that they had been able to get as close to the fortress as they had without being spotted by any of his patrols, something which was worrying given his precarious situation. Thankfully he knew that Esus had already noted it and would be furiously haranguing the last couple of patrols over their inepititude. The second thing that had annoyed him however was that they had just turned up and expected him to treat with them, there was no converse before the talks, they just came.

"His Grace King Bain," the Dale noble said courtly, "would like to offer the hand of friendship to the new Lord of Dol Guldur, tales of his exploits have already reached his ears and he would like for our two nations to be friends."

The bald dwarf nodded, "my King is of like mind in this, he has heard of how you slew one of the Nine, a mighty deed indeed, and he sees the benefit trade and mutual protection could bring to both of us."

"The King of Mirkwood," the elf stressed, "would also like to have us friends, more so he would like an alliance between us to help dwell with the other dark denizens that dwell in the forest. He sees such an undertaking as mutually beneficial."

"I never did like the spiders," Harry half joked.

The dwarf laughed and a quick grin passed the visage of the man, on the elf however there was little more than a slight upturning of the lips, which Harry was unsure whether to interpret as amusement or contempt. Either way it was time to end the games.

"So you heard of how I killed the Ringwraith," Harry said bluntly, "and you are sounding me out regarding a desertion from Mordor to the side of the free peoples."

The man looked surprised, "you do not wish to keep this a secret?"

Harry shrugged, "why should I? Most of my men are wondering which side I will go for, and all of them know that I am considering deserting the Dark Lord, they would have to be fools not and my men are not fools."

"And which side would they have you pick?" Orophir asked shrewdly.

"Ahh the subtleties of cohort politics," Harry said with a laugh, "some would have me join you, some would have be stay with Mordor and more than a couple would wish me to stay out of the war. I myself if I was honest I would say I rather you won, but common sense says you are not going to so that leaves me in a bit of a quandary."

The dwarf looked unsurprised, "I would call you a coward, but I know that not to be the case."

"Many would call me a coward," Harry said unsympathetically, "but I have people who I am responsible for, and I would rather not be responsible for their deaths if I can help it. At the moment I can promise that unless I receive direct orders from Mordor I will make no attempt to attack any of your three realms. In addition my lords we would be delighted to open a trade with you and we shall start killing any spiders within our borders."

"There are more foul creatures that mere spiders within your borders," Orophir said slightly disgusted.

"You are referring to the orcs of course," Harry said wearily, "whilst I can honestly say I don't particular like them, they have sworn allegiance to me and I am not one to turn on them without cause."

The elf nodded, as if accepting this, "and what would you have from us in return for this ceasefire?"

"Nothing," Harry said succinctly, "provided you are willing to offer a safe haven for me and my men should we decide to support you and are unable to hold the fortress. In addition if we do I would request that you provide us details of any plans like you would any other allied commander."

The three of them exchanged glances, before seeming to come to an conclusion.

"It seems we have a deal, laddie!" Dwalin said, grasping Harry's hand.

"Very well then let us return to the feasting with the rest of your men shall we!"

In all Harry found them to be pleasant company, the dwarf in particular had gone down well with many of his men. Dwalin himself had said that he had travelled through Harad in his days as a mercenary and so knew many of the in-jokes and racial stereotypes which caused riotous laughter among the cohort.

Judging the man was a little harder for Harry then he would find judging a normal member of the cohort, he was just so different. Where his own men loved to joke around, the man from Dale was so serious, so noble in a way which was different from the Black Númenóreans. Harry put it down to coming from a totally different background.

The elf had been the real surprise, Harry was quite willing to hate him for who he was but he had found that many of his earlier views could not be applied certainly to these elves, if not all of them. For whilst they were arrogant and aloof, looking down their noses at Harry and his men, they did not seem to be particularly manipulative or cowardly.

"I was a member of Thorin Oakenshield's party that reclaimed the Mountain," Dwalin boasted to those surrounding him, "and let me say, then we dwarfs and elves would not be getting on so well. Oh no, indeed on our way to the Mountain we were cruelly imprisoned in the halls of our friends over here."

"But then we all fought together at the Battle of the Five Armies," the elf next to him reminded him gently.

"Of course, of course," the dwarf grumbled.

Most would have overlooked this, but the members of cohort were politicians as well as soldiers. Many of them gave significant glances in Harry's direction to ensure that he had picked up on it, such disagreements could be useful when it came to negotiations. This was an old grudge, Harry could see, and one that had not been easily forgotten even though it was sixty years after the event itself. Resentment obviously lingered long in the minds of dwarfs.

After the food had finished being served, Harry caught sight of Esus slipping into the hall and moving quietly so as not to attract attention to himself and away from whatever story was being or exploit being boasted, he drew his second command away with a nod down one of the passageways leading off the hall. The two of them went out onto a balcony that overlooked the courtyard below, the sound of the feast forming a block of sound down the passage behind them.

"Have we heard from the villages yet? Harry murmured to Esus who was standing beside him.

Esus shook his head, "there has been no word, milord!"

Harry nodded, "have one of your men take the orcs, keep them out of side and cross the river, then strike at them from the east so that it looks like they came from the mountains. Strip their armour as well, have them wear rags and leather armour so that it makes them look like an ordinary orc band."

"What will be their orders?" Esus asked, checking slightly to make sure that they would not be overheard by the emissaries.

"No killing and no destruction of anything that will be valuable," Harry said, "we will need those villages to supply food by the time that winter comes, so tell your men I will be pissed off if they destroy any of the crops."

Esus looked concerned, "what about Dale, the Beornings are under their protection?"

Harry nodded, "well it will only show how useless their protection is and how much better ours is. Besides if they get caught we can just say they went rogue after they heard that I planned to agree to the treaty."

"Very good, I will go and give the orders," Esus bowed, before disappearing.

Harry turned to go back to the emissaries, only to find that he himself had been joined by the elf, Orophir. The two them stood there is silence overlooking the fortress and the forest of Mirkwood beyond.

"I have seen men come and go," the elf said sadly, "their lives seem like a heartbeat for me, yet despite the hundreds of generations I have seen of you I doubt I will ever be able to understand you. I fear that is the curse which immortality brings."

"Immortality is hardly a curse," Harry scoffed, "well not if everyone you know and love is immortal too."

Orophir smiled sadly, "but they are not always are they. It is why the love stories between men and elves are so tragic, because even from the beginning the relationship was doomed to a tragic ending. And even if age does not touch us we still fall to wound and injury, and I have seen more wars than any man has ever experienced and seen friends and family lost because of it."

Harry for a moment felt sorry for the elf, he had never considered it in that way. In his own world their brand of immortality was a gift that men would kill for, but here with the constant fighting and dying he could see why mortality was known as the Gift of Eru to mankind.

"You know what that is?" Orophir asked, changing subject whilst motioning towards his new ring.

Harry half raised his hands as if to shield the item from view, located as it was on a chain around his neck. In time however he stopped himself and instead frowned at the question.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, "what does it have to do with anything?"

"Have you not ever wondered why they are called the Ringwraiths?" the elf replied calmly, "it is because they are slaves to their rings, given to them by the Dark Lord. It was no ritual or spell which made them wraiths, but rather the corrupting influence of the ring on the darkness inside their hearts."

The young wizard frowned, "but I have not turned into a wraith, nor does it looked like I am in the process of doing so."

"It is a process that takes time," Orophir warned, "first the ring gives you power, until eventually you depend on it and cannot live without it. Then once it has secured its place within your heart it makes it move, corrupting your soul and turning you into a Ringwraith."

"Why have I not heard of this?" Harry asked, slightly distressed.

"Men forget things other races do not," Orophir said, "and those things that you do remember are soon clouded in myth and legend, as the stories are handed down from generation to generation. The Nine did not return for thousands of years after the Last Alliance, and to the realms of men Sauron and his servants were destroyed. But elves do not forget, for many who live now remember those days."

"The elves have such rings?" Harry asked in interest.

"Yes, the Three," Orophir replied, "the rings of fire, water and air. They alone of the Rings of power were never touched by the Enemy, for he took the Nine and the Seven which he gave to men and dwarfs respectively. It was from him that their corruption came."

Harry glanced down at his ring, "does Khamûl's ring have a name then?"

"Khamûl bore Naug'ram, the Ring of Unity," the elf explained, "through its strength Khamûl was able to unify the Easterlings, the men of Khand and all the other tribes to form the Confederacy of Rhûn. With its strength however was tied the vice of arrogance, and it is through that sin that the ring took his soul."

Harry was intrigued, "do all the rings have a vice attached?"

Orophir shrugged, "so goes the legend, a myth even to elves for we have never been able to study the Nine truly since they were touched by the Deceiver. The vices were according to legend; arrogance, pride, envy, anger, greed, obsession with black magic, gluttony, neglect and cruelty. It is said that each of the ringbearers fell to one of these vices. The rings themselves were the Rings of Unity, Magic, Strength, Knowledge, Undying, Kingship, Honour, Love and Death."

"Honour and Love?" Harry said sceptically.

Orophir smiled wanly, "even emotions that are amongst the purest can be turned into something dark, for love can be corrupted into envy and jealous whilst with honour comes pride."

"What about the Witchking?" Harry asked, remembering the Lord of Minas Morgul, "what was his ring and vice?"

"His was Dra'hamar, the Ring of Magic," the wood elf said with a shudder as he spoke the name, "the vice his ring bore was said to be that of black magic, a vice which strengthened rather than weakened him which was why he rose to take his place at their head, once the rings had claimed their souls."

"Thank you for your help," Harry said, dismissing him so that he could think in solitude.

Harry wrestled with the matter in his mind, was the power the ring offered worth the corruption it risked. Surely it didn't matter for the moment, a voice inside his head argued, after all it took years for the others to fall so it wouldn't hurt him to wear it and use it for a bit. No, he resolved, he would go up to his room and lock it up safely in his safe where it could not corrupt him and where he would not be tempted to use it.

"Milord, we need you in here for a moment," came the shout down the passageway.

Harry nodded and turned, the whole matter with the ring slipping strangely easily out of his mind for the moment. The ring remained firmly in place.

* * *

**AN: Right already at the Council at Rivendell and not already on Chapter 8, going at a speed quicker than that of the last one, but that's how its panning out.**

**The Rings: The elven rings are given names and characteristics, so I thought I would do the same for the Nine (and the Seven, should I ever need to). **

**Any other questions (there were a lot after the last chapter) leave in a review or PM me, and I will try and answer them. Please however make sure your PM thing is on otherwise I can't.**

**T Horn**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Another chapter, and one which is a couple of days early, aren't you lucky. It is because I already have another chapter done, so wanted to hurry its publication along so I will probably put that up on Sunday.**

* * *

Chapter 8

Two Months later

The last two months had been unlike anything that Harry had ever experienced before, for now he controlled the whole of Rhovanion, taking his title as its lord. Everything between the Great River in the east and the westernmost of the Rhunnic states was under his control, everything from the East Blight in the centre of Mirkwood down to the Dead Marshes in the south. Lands which previously had been known as the Brown Lands, previous dominated by brigand bands and raiding parties were under his firm control, for none dared cross the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur.

Nor was his new lordship among the poorest of the realms of men in this Middle Earth for it stood along the trade routes between north and south, goods from Erebor and Dale followed through his realm and so his coffers grew and where there is wealth so too there is opportunity. Men had flood to his service and brigand mans had bend the knee rather than be overrun by his new forces.

Yet despite all this good new, Harry was still worried. Reports were coming in, from the west of unrest among the goblins of the city of Moria, at the same time as orders flowed came from the east demanding that Harry prepare for war.

It was one cool night as Harry was feasting with his men in the Great Hall of the fortress when the storm broke and with it the calm that comes before a war. Harry sat up high on his dais, his commanders alongside him on the high table whilst their subordinates in the cohort dined below them and then further down ate those who were sworn to his service but were not of the cohort, the brigand chieftains, Beornings and men of Rhovanion.

Suddenly the door burst open and Esus marched in, escorting behind him a bedraggled weary figure, one who was soaking wet and hunched over as if he had spent hours on a horse.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked gravely, recognising the serious expression of the faces of the two.

"A messenger has just rode up from the south," Esus said, "there has been an incursion on our lands. Orcs, around two hundred of them heading down river in the direction of the old watchtower of Amon Hen."

Immediately there were roars of delight from around the hall, it had been a long time since the cohort had last had a proper fight and two hundred orcs would hardly be a challenge, it would be more like hunting vermin than fighting a battle. Esus however looked stoic, coming up to whisper in Harry's ear.

"The scout says these are not like any orcs he has seen before," Esus said, "for they are bigger, taller and can travel in daylight, not only that but they bear not the mark of Mordor, but that of the White Hand."

"The White Hand," Harry said, straining his memory, "Saruman uses that sign, yet he would not be the ones to use orcs surely, a member of the White Council and an Istari?"

Esus shook his head, "the scouts said they came from the west, from Rohan and so Isenguard is a possibility."

"Wherever they came from, it was not Mordor," Harry said, "I have no treaty with Saruman, so this is an act of war and I shall treat it as such. Have two hundred men ready to ride in the morning, I think I shall attend to this personally."

"It shall be done, milord!" Esus said with a bow.

"My friends," Harry said raising his arm for silence, "we have orc to hunt!"

The next morning two hundred horses stood in the courtyard as two hundred men made last minute preparations and said last minute farewells. It surprised Harry how quickly some of his men had made attachments to the local women, considering that they came from half a world away and from cultures so different from the one to which they were now neighbours to.

"You shall stay here," Harry said to Esus, "you know my mind in most things, do not yield the fortress to any unless you have to. Do not betray my trust in you."

"Your wish, my command!" his second in command murmured, clasping his hand to his chest in salute.

Harry smiled and pulled himself up into his saddle, wincing slightly as he considered the impending journey. It was two hundred miles south to Amon Hen, four days hard riding and unlike most of his men Harry had never ridden a horse before until a year ago, so he knew that by the end of the journey he would have sores on his thighs.

"Mount up!" he ordered.

Two hundred men swung themselves in saddle and then in pairs rode out the gatehouse, those staying behind formed up on the walls and in the courtyard watching them go. Castamir and his two friends were among those that rose, Harry thought it would be best to keep an eye on them.

**********South Rhovanion***********

Four days hard riding had left Harry aching all over, his inner thighs had toughened after the first few days but were now looking a motley purple colour. But they were there, southern Rhovanion near where the orcs had been spotted. A small village with a large wood stockade had just come in sight, it lay upon the river edge and so if any had come to the attention of the orcs this would have been one of them.

They rode up to the gate, proudly displaying Harry's wolf banner as they approached the gate. In a glance Harry was able to see that they were wary, whether because of the orcs or because of the normal bandit threat he was unsure, but the gate had already been shut and the walls were being filled with men bearing all manner of different weapons, ranging from bows to scythes.

"I am Harry, Lord of Rhovanion," Harry announced, "I have come in response to news of an orcish band in the area, any information you could give us regarding its location would be greatly appreciated."

"They came past here six days ago," a voice whose owner Harry could not see replied, "they were headed south along the river but stopped here to demand food and sustenance. They were refused."

Harry was about to shout back a reply, but thought better of it, "could you open the gate to me and a couple of my men so we can discuss this matter in a civilised manner, my voice is getting tired of shouting?"

"We are fine with conversing like this," the voice returned, "we don't want your men in our village."

"I would argue that as your lord it is your responsibility to open this gates to be and my men," Harry replied wearily, "but I will not, instead would you accept just me entering unarmed?"

There was a moment of silence where the defenders seemed to spend conferring about whether or not to allow Harry to enter. He was not particularly worried about a trap, should it prove to be one then he was sure that he would be able to hold a bunch of peasants whilst his men blew down the gate.

"Only you," the voice eventually came back, "and totally unarmed."

Harry agreed and made a visible gesture of handing over his staff to Prongs before dismounting his horse and limping his way over to the gate, which opened a fraction to allow him to enter before it shut behind him. Inside he found that he was quickly surrounded by villagers and their weapons, each of them making threats to castrate him should he prove false.

"Now you said the orcs requested supplies here and were refused," Harry said, looking for a leader, "where did they go after that?"

A man stepped forward out of the crowd, and faced Harry. He was clearly the headsman, one of the artisans or tradesman who was responsible for the running of the village. The headsman was armed with a steel sword, which acted as a clear badge of rank and wealth among the sea of staves, scythes and other farming equipment.

"They headed to some of the nearby farms to get food there," the man replied grimly, "and they got it."

"How many days' supply did they get?" Harry asked, trying to work out where they would next stop.

The headsman grimaced, "that depends on how many days two hundred orcs could live on eight men and three children, along with any supplies they gained in the process."

The Harry who had first arrived in this world would have been sick at the thought of the consummation of human flesh but this Harry was well aware of the savagery and depravity of the orcs, particularly those on the march.

"I have heard that this orcs are different, not goblins or normal orcs but taller and stronger," Harry said, "did you see this when they were here?"

"Aye, we did," the headsman nodded, "half the orcs were the ordinary sort, but among them there was a group that seemed to form the elite. They moved without pain in the sunlight, stood taller than a man and were able to bully the others into travelling in daylight."

Harry frowned, "did you notice any other details about them?"

"Yeh," the other man replied, "their armour was not the ordinary tatters of orcs, but was well made and strong, with the mark of a white hand upon it. Their weapons too were of good quality."

Harry returned to his men, not particularly happy with what information he had gathered, it was not that there was anything missing rather that none of it was particularly good news. The fact that they were well armoured and equipped as well as the fact that they seemed to have some sort of uniform, could only mean that they were an elite unit and so were likely to be a lot harder to defeat than Harry had originally anticipated.

"You learn anything?" Castamir asked when he returned.

Harry nodded, "our enemy number two hundred, are well armoured and carry good quality weapons. The headsman said the rumours about them being taller and stronger were true, so we'll have to keep an eye out for them."

"I would say that they were Uruk-Hai," Valacar said from Castamir's side, "but they only exist in the service of Mordor, not free and certainly not in the service of one of the Dark Lord's principal enemies, like Saruman."

In a moment something seemed to click, "unless of course," Harry said carefully, "the Dark Lord has managed to turn Saruman to the service of Mordor."

"Then why would we have not heard of it?" Castamir questioned, "it would be a great coup for our side."

"Unless of course there was mission Saruman had to carry out," Harry replied, "one that required some sort of secrecy, then he wouldn't want the whole world knowing where Saruman's loyalties lay."

"Is it best we don't follow the orcs then?" Valacar asked.

Harry shook his head, "Saruman might have an alliance with the Dark Lord, but he hasn't made one with me and still his men cross into my lands. I must punish them for it. Besides if it is a secret mission, it would look suspicious if I came down here hunting orcs only to return to Dol Guldur without killing any."

*********Amon Hen********

Another days punishing ride had seen them reached the Falls of Rauros, opposite the old watchtower of Amon Hen. Harry had given orders to set up camp here, whether the orcs were here or not both he and the horses needed to rest.

Just as evening was falling Harry along with most of the men decided to have a dip in the river to wash out the dirt that gets worn into the skin after days in the saddle. Harry enjoyed the feeling of the cool water running over his body as he bathed in the shallows of the river, careful not to go out too deep and risk being swept over the Falls.

It was as they were bathing that the lookout spotted something coming downstream. It was a craft unlike any Harry had ever seen before. Graceful, swanlike even, it glided over the water seemingly effortlessly.

"An elven craft," Castamir said, surprise evident in his voice, "yet none seem to be aboard."

Harry quickly hurried out of the water, accepting a cloth that was offered to him so that he could wipe the worst of the water from his body. Once he was dry he drew his wand from his saddle bags and headed back down to the river bank. Then making sure the ground was solid and he would not slip, he raised his wand.

"Accio boat!"

The effort Harry needed to halt the movement of the craft towards the falls was huge, he was fighting against the current of the river which seemed to be determined to take the boat with it. It was just as the craft was about to slip over the chasm that Harry managed to take control of it and pull it back from the edge.

It was a fight, and put strains on Harry's magic as he pulled the boat towards him, the water continuing to put up resistance. Eventually however he managed to pull it to the bank where it was quickly secured by some of Harry's men.

"It's a burial," Castamir said, "and that of a man, not an elf. Why would a man be bourn down river in an elven boat?"

"Perhaps he was an elf-friend," Valacar said with a shrug.

Harry meanwhile had managed to steady himself, fighting down the tiredness that was creeping upon him from the days of riding and then the feat of magic he had just performed. Wading into the shallows he reached the boat and begun to study it looking for any clues as to the man it bore.

He had reddish brown hair, a small beard and had a finely wrought sword clasped across his chest. The warrior's head, for that was clearly what he was, was resting on a circular shield, brown in colour with a central boss. A small white horn lay at his feet, cloven in two by some strike. It was something on his finger however that caught the evening light and with it Harry's attention. A small ring, a signet ring by the look of it rested upon the hilt of the sword and Harry had to lean over to examine it.

"Remind me again, Castamir," Harry said, not taking his eye off the ring, "what is the mark of the Stewards of Gondor?"

"That of the white rod of office over the White Tree of Gondor," the Númenórean repeated instantly, having had such things drilled into him in his youth.

Harry nodded, "you mean like the one on this ring?"

Instantly Castamir was off the bank, where he had been waiting for a Númenórean would not be caught dead bathing with common brigands and native Haradriym, and was wading out until he was at Harry's side. He examined the ring in detail before moving on to the other items in the boat until he finally came to the horn.

"The Horn of Gondor," he said in wonder, "this is the body of Boromir, the commander of the armies of Minas Tirith."

That set murmurs through his ranks, even Harry in his short time here had heard of Boromir of Gondor, the Captain of the White Tower and the Captain General of the forces of Gondor. This was the man who had taken eastern Osgiliath from the forces of Mordor, driven back the combined forces of Mordor, Rhûn and Harad, a man admired through the whole of the free world as the greatest warrior of his time.

"Not body," came the voice of Prongs from the side, "he is still alive."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked pretty sceptically, bringing his hand to feel for a pulse, "he seems pretty dead to me."

The spirit warrior huffed, "of course I am sure, I can feel the life still in him. Poison and his wounds have taken his strength and he will be truly dead in a matter of minutes, but at the moment he is still alive."

"We can soon fix that!" Valacar said, drawing a knife from his belt.

"No!" Harry ordered, "draw him out onto the bank."

His men did not question him but hauled the boat up onto the bank and settled it there. Harry himself once he had been helped out, carefully stepped into the boat and knelt beside the body. Placing his head against the seemingly alive man Harry listened carefully for a heartbeat but didn't hear anything for a couple of moments before he heard the weak and uneven beat.

"He's alive!" Harry confirmed.

And Harry was not going to allow him to die on his watch. Quickly going over all the healing spells Harry knew in his head, he knew that no spell he knew would be able to stop the poison or heal the wounds. Healing magic had hardly been a subject that they had been taught at Hogwarts and it was not something he had delved into in his free time. Without the knowledge it meant that Harry would have to use one of the most dangerous forms of magic, expression magic. So called because it was not one of spells, incantations or rituals rather it was one of emotion. It was this sort of magic that formed the basis for accidental magic, and without words to guide it could go badly, badly wrong.

"Prongs," Harry said, knowing his guardian would understand what he was about to do, "I am going to try some expression magic, if it goes bad you know what to do."

A sharp hit around the head with the hilt of a sword ought to be enough to knock Harry unconscious and so prevent the spell from getting any further out of hand. Reading himself Harry held his hands over the warrior's chest, trying to feel the beat of his heart and began to pour his magic through his wand with a single thought in his mind.

_Heal!_

Harry could feel his magic draining out of his and through his wand onto the body of the fallen warrior. The young wizard could feel the wounds beginning to heal and the poison leave the body. Suddenly it all came to a juddering halt as fatigue hit him, another attempted feat of magic after the stress of the last few days was too much and Harry could feel himself empty.

Immediately he began to panic, without his magic to fuel the spell it could run out of control and take in magic from the surroundings, the nearest of which being his own life-force as well as that of his men. He threw his senses around desperately trying to find any magic he had hidden in the depths of his body, but found nothing. Then suddenly he felt a whole pool in his chest and reached for it eagerly, pouring it out into the spell, once more allowing the wounds to close.

Moments later there was a spluttering as the man awoke and tried to sit up, only to be met by at least three sword points. Harry mean while fell back in exhaustion, unable to keep himself upright. He idly reached for the place in his chest where he found that extra energy to complete the spell with his hand. Only to freeze as his hands closed around a ring on a chain around his neck, that ring.

"Milord, milord," Castamir said, "are you alright?"

"We camp here for the night," Harry said weakly, "begin riding again in the morning."

That moment his strength gave out and he toppled over, asleep.

************Amon Hen************

Harry opened his eyes wearily and found himself looking up at canvas above his head, the sun shining in through the entrance of the tent. Groaning he pulled himself into a sitting position and then onto his feet. Almost immediately he had to sit down again as all the blood flowed from his head.

It took a couple of tries before Harry was able to stand but staggering out of his tent he found himself in the centre of a camp, men hustling round doing a host of chores including collecting fire wood and cooking.

"Ah you're awake, I see," a voice came from behind him, "going to revive anymore of Mordor's enemies today, perhaps Gil-Galad or maybe even Isildur. I am sure the Dark Lord would really appreciate it if you would do that for him."

"Very amusing," Harry remarked not amused, turning to see Castamir there.

"Amusing or not," Castamir said, "might I offer you some lunch?"

Harry's stomach growled, "lead on!"

The young wizard followed the Númenórean through the tents until they came to a small fire which had a deer roasting over it. One of Harry's new subjects, one of the bandit tribesmen, was turning the spit as a group of men lounged around the fire. Harry noticed that whilst before the native Haradrium and Black Númenóreans would have seated themselves separately now they mingled freely enough. Settling down on a log which served as a seat Harry was served the best cut of the venison, which he eagerly devoured.

"So what happened to the Gondorian?" Harry asked, once he had at least partially satisfied his stomach.

"Your bodyguard has him under guard in one of the tents," Valacar said from where he was sprawled on the floor, "didn't let us kill him, but there will be other opportunities."

Harry rolled his eyes, "don't be so sure. Send for him, I wish to speak to him."

It was a couple of minutes later before Prongs appeared, escorting Boromir who was looking slightly better than when Harry had seen him last. His clothes had been repaired and he had been given the opportunity to have a shave, although he had chosen not to shave off his beard which remained.

"Greetings Boromir of Gondor," Harry said, "I am Harry, Lord of Rhovanion, and the man who is responsible for not allowing you to have a ride over the Fall of Rauros. Come sit and eat."

The Gondorian hesitated for a moment before sitting cross legged on the ground, being handed a bowl of some of the lesser cuts of the beast. As he ate he did not take his eyes off Harry, which slightly unnerved the younger man.

"So you are the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur," the dark haired man stated when he had finished, "you truly are as young as they say you are."

Harry smiled, "so they always say, now tell me what are you doing in my lands. I have agreements with the Free Peoples, at least that was what I was told I had, and part of that involved not trespassing on my lands."

"We didn't trespass," Boromir replied, "me and several companions were travelling south from Lothlorien on boats gifted to us by the elves there, we never crossed the river into your lands."

"You travelled down the river?" Harry questioned, "I presume that you and your companions are what those orcs were chasing then? "

The commander of the Gondorian forces didn't say a word but just said there eating his meal, but his silence was enough to confirm what Harry had guessed.

"The scouts say the orcs turned back west, in the direction they came," Castamir interjected, "they were probably heading back to Isenguard."

"They would only head back if they got what they came for," Harry said, "and as your friends had time to properly arrange your burial we can presume that they are still alive. So if the orcs were not hunting you to kill you what were they after?"

Boromir glared back at him, "that is no concern of yours!" he said flintily.

The men around Harry growled, unsettled by the tone in which the Gondorian had spoken but Harry hushed them with a wave.

"No perhaps it is not," Harry admitted, "but I will find whatever it is when we catch up with the orc ban, either way it does not particularly matter."

Boromir looked surprised, "you go after them? Then I will join you, if you would have me."

"So you want to go after them," Harry smiled, "so they did get want they wanted and now you want to get it back which is why you are offering to ride with us. What was it they took?"

"They took some of my company," Boromir admitted, "two hobbits, or halflings as you would call them."

Castamir snorted, "halflings, they are but tales they don't actually exist."

"What is a Halfling?" Harry asked, sure he was missing out on something.

It was Boromir who replied, "a Halfling is another word for a hobbit, they are short barely taller than the children of men even when fully grown. They dwell in a land called the Shire, in the old realm of Arnor east of the mountains. I myself did not know of their existence until I met some in Rivendell."

"Rivendell," Harry said sharply, "that is the home of the elves is it not? And there place where several months ago there was a council which sent emissaries to me."

"You were mentioned at the Council," the warrior allowed, "but the main discussion was over something else."

"That something which Saruman wants the hobbits for?" Harry said shrewdly.

Once again the warrior refused to answer Harry's questions but the man was obviously more of a soldier than a politician. He had yet to realise that his silence was often as much of an answer than if he had chosen to speak.

"To get back to the original statement," Harry said, "I would ask why I should allow you to join me and mine on this hunt?"

Boromir shrugged, "you ride through Rohan, and the bandits you ride with are hardly welcome there. That I could speak for you would be enough for most to allow you to pass. Was anything found of my other companions; a man, a dwarf and an elf?"

Harry looked to Castamir, who shook his head and beckoned a scout over for further questioning. Someone would be in for an earful for missing that. Boromir was right though, a company of two hundred horsemen was not something that would be easily missed and Harry had to wish to start a war with Rohan when he had so few men with him.

"No," the young wizard replied to Boromir's question, "I presume they went after your companions then, ride with us then and let's see if we can deliver you to their care."

"Milord," Castamir had obviously returned, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

Harry nodded, "of course!"

He got to his feet and followed the Black Númenórean until they were out of hearing from Boromir as well as anyone else who might overhear them. Once they were sure that nobody was listening, Castamir turned to Harry.

"The Dark Lord will not be happy if we go hunting these orcs," Castamir warned, "if he has shared the secret of creating Uruks then they must be in alliance.

"You don't serve Sauron, you serve your Queen in Umbar," Harry replied coolly, " and I serve no man apart from myself. Besides the Dark Lord has yet to inform me of any such alliance so anything that occurs is his responsibility."

Castamir shook his head, "he will not see it that way. Are you sure you are not doing this because you know this is the right thing to do, rather than the thing that will keep us alive?"

"Let's see if we can make it be both," Harry said dismissively, "it is in the interest of your Queen for Sauron not to win and besides making an alliance with the future Steward would only help her reclaim her throne."

Castamir nodded, obviously not fully convinced but willing to go through with Harry's madness for the moment. The Black Númenórean excused himself to go and ready himself and the men for the ride, whilst Harry returned to Boromir.

"Now let's see if we can free your friends shall we?"

* * *

**AN: I couldn't let Boromir die, he is my favourite member of the Fellowship just because unlike the rest of them he isn't perfect and the only reason the ring is able to manipulate him is because he wants to do the best for his people. I really hate it when he gets a harsh treatment, he doesn't deserve it. It also doesn't help that Ned Stark is one of my favourite characters, and he too dies.**

**T Horn**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: This chapter is a bit more of a filler chapter, with big events coming up.**

******I know some people have complained about Harry not changing his name, saying that Harry is a commoner's name but in Middle Earth it wouldn't be (after all how many people are there in the books called Harry). To them it would simply sound like a foreign name rather than a commoner's name.**

* * *

Chapter Nine

It had been two days since the cohort had left from their camp by the Falls of Rauros. By the time the company had been ready to ride Harry feared that they would not be able to catch their prey until they were deep into Rohan. They had already lost three days before they set off, and even then they had still had to travel upstream for a day's ride before they could find somewhere where they would be able to cross with the horses.

Before they had left Harry and several of his men had crossed the river to the watchtower of Amon Hen and inspected the bodies of the fallen orcs. They were truly unlike anything Harry had seen in his time in Minas Morgul or since. Valacar confirmed that they were Uruk-Hai though he depressingly said that these were a superior breed to the ones which the Dark Lord had been breeding. It seemed like Saruman must have taken the Dark Lord's original formula and then enriched it in order to produce a better race of orc.

Harry had also made the decision that they would be travelling light, much to the frustration of some of the more pampered members of the cohort, as items such as tents and sleeping mats were loaded on a cart to be sent back to Dol Guldur. Harry had not been willing to do anything that might sacrifice capturing their prey, fearing that a failure to do so would only be seen as a sign of weakness and weakness did not seem to be one of those traits that was linked with a long lifespan.

Boromir had spent the time since he had awoke brooding, not saying much to any but instead preparing for the journey. Harry had caught him on more than one occasion looking out to the east, in the direction of Mordor, with a pained expression on his face and Harry could help but wonder what was responsible for it. On one occasion when the warrior was washing his face in the river Harry was surprised by the level of self-loathing and hatred he saw when Boromir looked at his reflection in the water. Even now the man had yet to say a word on the entire ride but was at the front of the column pushing the pace. Harry suspected that the man of Gondor counted himself as responsible for his failure to protect his comrades from being taken by the Uruk-Hai.

"Riders!" came the call from the scouts as they raced back towards the main group.

They had been travelling at quite some pace, following the tracks of the orcs in the hope of catching them before they got too far into Rohan where they risked discovery. Harry had ordered scouts to be posted way ahead of the column so they would have some warning as well as deciding to take a bit of a longer route over the hills, rather than risk the plains. However it seemed that such measures had been in vain because now they had been noticed.

"How many?" Harry called back to the incoming scouts.

"They outnumber us two to one!" they replied.

Harry swore and hoped they would not attack straight away, but rather would take time first to identify the intruders in their lands. He hoped that Boromir would be able to convince their leader to let them continue or at the very least return back to Dol Guldur without a fight. The cohort would probably be able to win on such odds but Harry had no desire to lose men or start a war with Rohan.

"Close up, close ranks!" Harry ordered.

He hoped that if they made it obvious they were going on the defensive they would not be attacked. Bunched close as they were the cohort watched as the riders, bearing the horse banner of Rohan, circled their horses around the cohort with each circle getting smaller and smaller, before eventually the riders were within spear reach. Seemingly without orders, the Riders halted as one and a thicket of spears were pointed towards the cohort until they were surrounded, bunched close as they were. Even Harry, with his little knowledge in the field of cavalry warfare, was impressed with the way that man, horse and unit moved as if they were one.

Then one rode forward, a man taller than all the rest, from whose helm a crest of white horsetail flowed. He advanced until the point of his spear was within a foot of Harry's chest. Harry did his best not stir an inch, but could not restrain himself from flinching slightly as the steel came ever closer.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in these lands?" said the leader.

"I am Harry, Lord of Dol Guldur," Harry said, raising his hand away from the hilt of his sword, "I come hunt orcs that came into my lands not a week past."

At his name there was a ripple of mutterings among the riders, their leader's eyes widening with wonder before hardening fast. Harry sensed that he had a reputation in Rohan, and he was not sure it was the best one.

"We have heard of the Lord of Rhovanion," the rider said, "the man who has claimed the lands of our ancestors of old, and now we find him in our new lands and I cannot help but wonder whether he knows wishes to take these as his own as well."

"Do not judge me, horselord!" Harry hissed, "I make no claim on your lands, and those that I now rule you abandoned years past."

The tension in the air seemed to be growing by the second and all it would take would be for one foolish individual on either side to do something ill-thought out and the fire of conflict would be lit. Already Harry's hand had dropped back to his wand and sword, ready should that conflict erupt.

"Peace, rider of Rohan," Boromir said, coming from amongst the dense pack of Harry's men, "I am Boromir of Gondor, a friend to your King Théoden. I follow some of my comrades who took this route several days past; a man, a dwarf and an elf. They were hunting the same orcs pack we do now, I would beg that you let us go and seek them, forgiving this incursion into your lands."

The rider looked at him intensely for a moment before he made a gesture and the ring of spears around Harry and his riders were raised, as well as bow strings being slackened. The rider removed his helm, revealing a noble face and long hair such as the men of Rohan favoured.

"My lord Boromir," the rider said, "we met your comrades and they said that you had fallen but I am gladden to see that it is not so. It has been many years since we have met, with you fighting in the east, but I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark."

Boromir's eyes widened with recognition, "the king's nephew, then we are well met Lord Eomer. It does my heart glad to see you once more. I could only wish it were under better circumstances."

"I only wish I could improve them, Boromir," Eomer replied grimly, "yet I have more news that will grieve your ears, I met your companions not a day ago and provided them with horses. My men and I destroyed the orcs band in the night before, we found no trace of those they took. I am sorry."

Boromir's expression seemed to crumble, "then I have failed them once more, I doomed them to this fate and now I find I cannot save them from it."

"It is not your fault," Harry said reassuringly, "in case you have forgotten you had three arrow wounds in your chest which had to be healed. You could have done nothing to save the halflings."

"My shame occurred before that," Boromir said regretfully, but not elaborating.

Harry decided to intervene, "where did you destroy the orcs? Did they come from Isenguard?"

"What concern would it be of yours sorcerer?" said the rider next to Eomer, "long have we heard of the sorcerer of Dol Guldur and the orcs who serve him in the name of the Shadow in the East."

Growls came from Harry's men and once more hands dropped towards swords, but the riders of Rohan replied lowering their spears until once more Harry's two hundred were surrounded by spear points. Boromir made to intervene but Harry beat him to it.

"There are orcs among my subjects," Harry said coolly, "but I keep them under control, and they serve me not the Eye. As for why it is my concern, those orcs raided my lands and even if you have slain them then I owe their master equal number of dead to satisfy my own thirst for vengeance. You yourselves would be the same had it been your villages they had attacked and if you had the strength to seek it."

Harry's not-so-subtle implication about the strength of Rohan was not greatly appreciated by those surrounding them and once again Harry wished that he had kept his mouth shut and not uttered the last insult. Eomer however seemed to accept it as a matter of fact, rather than opinion.

"You will find, sorcerer," he replied, "that there are still those in Rohan that still seek to halt the advance of evil, still those who have not lost strength."

Harry smiled, "and I am glad to hear it. There may come a time when we will all be grateful for the strength that remains in Rohan. I would ask your permission, as a Marshall of the Riddermark, to take my men and hunt orcs?"

"You would ask me permission to take your men and ride through the lands of my people?" Eomer asked, the question evident in his voice, "with only your word that you hunt orcs and you do not do anything else. How can I trust that?"

"You have my word as well," Boromir said, "that should mean something still in Rohan."

Eomer thought for a moment, "if Lord Boromir is willing to vouch for you, then I will allow it. Not that I could have done much else, the King saw fit to have me banished when I told him the truth about the origin of the armies that sack our lands."

"So they do come from Isenguard?" Harry sought to confirm.

Eomer nodded, "they bear the White Hand of Saruman. Unfortunately the White Wizard's minion, Grima Wormtongue, has turned the king against reason and poisoned his mind. It was he that ordered my banishment, along with those who remained loyal to Rohan."

"What about your cousin, Theodred?" Boromir asked, "surely he would have objected to your banishment?"

Eomer looked pained, "the Prince felt at the Fords of the Isen, not four days since."

"That is sad news indeed, for he was a fine warrior and prince," Boromir asked in regret and not a little astonishment, "and the king still refuses to do anything?"

Harry however was more concerned, "that must be a powerful hold that Saruman has over the king," he said, "there must be more than lies and poison that he whispers into the king's ears."

There was general agreement from many of the cohort, that sounded like witchcraft and magic and they were better than most to see it. For a magic control spell to be able to hold a man to doing nothing despite the fall of his only son and heir was worryingly powerful.

"Well whatever it is, there is naught that I can do about it," Eomer said wearily, "the king has banned me from my presence and so I go."

Banishment was a harsh punishment, Harry knew that better than most. But at least he knew that those he left behind were safe, or at least safer than if he had been there, but Eomer had no such reassurance. Those that had connived to have him banished were even as they spoke now were corrupting all he had ever loved against him.

"I can offer you and your men refuge," Harry offered generously, "until such a time as your uncle would have you back at his side."

"It is a generous offer," Eomer said, "but I cannot accept it, I will not leave my people in the hands of their enemies, despite what they whisper in the king's ear."

Harry bowed his head, "I understand, I myself would do the same. But the offer remains, should you decide to take it. Either way I wish you luck, Eomer of the Mark. I hope we can meet in circumstances not so bad next time."

"I wish the same, sorcerer," the horselord replied, "I wish you success with your hunting, feel free to go over the two hundred should you wish. The gods know the Mark is overflowing with the foul beasts these days."

**********Rohan************

A day had passed since the meeting with Eomer but now Harry was facing a problem. It was the traditional problem of the Harad cohort the conflict between native Haradrium and Black Númenórean, the bane of their unit's commander. Before now Harry had always been on the side of the Haradrium, as they were the ones who supported him against the Black Númenóreans. But this time it was the Haradrium that were threatening rebellion.

For a Haradrium they knew that by continuing to hunt the Uruks, they would longer just be looking for vengeance they would also be supporting Rohan. For them this would not do, Rohan was their loathed enemy's, Gondor's, greatest allies and a nation who had more than once intervened to the aid of Gondor in the destruction of the Haradrium in battle. To them this destruction being visited upon the Mark by the forces of Isenguard was an opportunity to enjoy the pain of the people whom to them were almost as bad as the people of Gondor and they were not willing to intervene to prevent this because Harry ordered them to.

Yet it was the Black Númenóreans who were now supporting Harry. For them this war was not about destroying Gondor and the other Free Peoples, rather returning it to what they saw as its rightful rulers; their Queen in Umbar with themselves returning as the aristocracy. Castamir and his colleagues had seen that this was Saruman's play for control of Rohan which would leave Gondor between the hammer and the anvil, which would mean that it would quickly fall to the control of the Dark Lord.

These meant that whilst before Harry's supporters had always been in the majority, now they were in the minority, outnumbered two to one, and that was before the bandits and bands who had sworn to Harry were taken into account, almost all of whom would fall down on the side of the Haradrium. Basically Harry was facing a mutiny and he had no idea how he was going to be able to quell it.

"Milord a rider approaching!" came the call from the edge of the camp.

Immediately men were leaping to their feet, the state of mutiny the camp was in forgotten in the face of a possible threat. Twenty men were soon in the saddle, riding to intercept the rider whilst others readied their weapons in case the man was followed by others. The rider indeed seemed to be looking for them because as soon as he saw the small encampment he turned his horse in their direction and rode straight towards them. Harry, followed by Prongs and Castamir, the rest of the two hundred following behind once it was clear they were not in danger of getting attacked.

"Is this the camp of my lord Eomer?" the messenger asked breathlessly.

"No," Harry replied, "but we say Eomer not a day ago, riding north with some of his household. I do not know where they would be now. Why? Are you looking for them?"

The messenger nodded, trying to regain his breath, "I have been ordered to tell him that his banishment has been revoked, by the orders of the king."

"Not Grima Wormtongue?" Harry asked unable to keep himself from sounding disapproving.

"Grima was exiled last night," the messenger replied, "Mithrandir healed the king from Saruman's poison. Even now the King goes to the Hornburg where he will face the armies of Isenguard, he has sent messengers all over the realm to raise the Rohirrium."

"Mithrandir?" Harry said disbelievingly, "I was told he was slain by a Balrog of Morogoth in Moria by one who was there, is that not so?"

The man nodded, "so they have said but he returned to Edoras, yesterday with three companions. But he is no more Gandalf the Grey but Gandalf the White, and he defeated the magic of the White Wizard. Tell me which Marshall do you serve under?"

Harry missed the question the first time so deep in thought he was. He could guess who the three companions that Gandalf returned to Edoras with, for Boromir's companions also numbered three and it was not a hard guess to make that Gandalf had reunited with them. But how he returned from fighting a balrog, that was something Harry not sure over. Boromir had told him how the wizard had fallen from the bridge in the pit of Moria, yet if his companions still followed him then they would have made sure it was truly him.

"Which marshal?" the man repeated.

"He serves under none of your petty Marshalls," Castamir said silky, "you are speaking to the Lord of Rhovanion who was invited into your lands to fight orcs by no other than your marshal Eomer. Now be gone and find your masters!"

The man took one look at Harry and turned his horse round, heading away as far as possible without a single look over his face. Harry's eyes however followed him and once the rider was out of sight the young wizard walked to the edge of the encampment deep in thought. Prongs and Castamir followed him but the rest of the men stood there waiting for him.

They were waiting for his commands, Harry knew, it was amusing that despite the fact that an hour ago they were threatening mutiny now that there was an actual decision to be made they were turning to him. But this time Harry did not know which course to take, for as long as he had been on this world he had made decisions on the basis of which option was less likely to get him killed. But now he found that that option was being fought and beaten down by what his heart was demanding him to do. His thoughts were in turmoil as mind and heart fought it out over his next move and Harry did not know what to do.

Perhaps the time for fighting only for his survival had finished, perhaps he now needed something else to fight for. A cause, one which would redeem him for all he had done in the service of Mordor for the men he had killed and those that he had helped kill. Maybe by helping to destroy the darkness it would wash away the crimes he had committed whilst in its service.

"What are you thinking, milord?" Castamir asked, looking at Harry's expression.

"I am thinking," Harry replied, "that I think it is time I decide upon my loyalties."

Prongs smiled, "we ride to Helm's Deep then?"

"No," Harry said a realisation coming upon him, "if Saruman's armies attack Rohan, then Isenguard will be undefended."

Castamir's eyes widened, "which would allow you take command of the Tower of Orthanc, with its palantir and all its wealth of knowledge that Saruman has collected. The hordes of knowledge that could be taken from there would be incalculable."

The three of them stopped and looked back towards the camp where two hundred men stood waiting their decision. Most of them would be sure that Harry was about to order them to return to Dol Guldur to avoid getting caught up in the conflict, many would welcome such a decision and only a few would support the opposite, but Harry had no regrets regarding the decision he was about to make. Just as Harry was about to go and talk to the men Boromir approached.

"I have heard the news," he said, before adding regretfully, "here is where we part ways then. I will not forget all you have done for me, should we ever met on the battlefield I shall try to spare you."

"We will meet on the battlefield," Harry said to Boromir's dismay, but then he smiled, "we shall meet, fighting side by side as brothers against the Enemy and all his legions."

Boromir's eyes widened with surprise, "you mean….?"

Harry smiled, "whilst I am sure that you wish to ride to the aid of your friends in Helm's Deep, might I suggest you come with us to Isenguard as I require a little chat with the White Wizard, and I am sure that you would appriecate one too."

"Do your men ride with you?" Boromir asked.

Harry grimaced, "some will but I fear we shall be but few in number, for most will choose to return home rather than involve themselves in this conflict."

With a heavy heart he turned back to the assembled company, knowing that now he would have to make his pitch. Men whom he had fought alongside and whom he had come to regard as his friends he would soon find on the opposite side of a war. Some would follow them, he had no doubt of that, but most would abandon him and return to Minas Morgul.

"My friends," Harry said, "as you have no doubt heard, even as we speak an army of orcs loyal to the Istari Saruman marches on the fortress of Helm's Deep, with its destruction would come the fall of Rohan, isolating Gondor to the strike of Mordor."

Nobody made any sound, whereas before there might have been cheers now there was silence as many knew that something was happening, something they had no knowledge of but something which would affect them. They were worried. So too was Harry, he would have to say it now, a statement which would alienate his men and send them back into the hands of the enemy. He took a deep breath

"I mean to ride to Isenguard, to take control of it from the wizard Saruman," Harry said, "for it is clear to me now that the Dark Lord and Saruman mean to split this Middle Earth between them. I have grown to like my independence and have no more desire to surrender it to Mordor, then I have to give it over to Gondor or the elves. Why should we submit ourselves to their service?"

Now there were whispers, many of them in disagreement only a couple of them in assent. This was one of the biggest steps that had ever been taken, never had a unit in the service of Mordor deserted to his enemies. Harry supposed that all such units had a good idea of what the Dark Lord was capable of and so had wisely chosen not to do so

"No doubt some of you would have me do otherwise," Harry continued, "allying with Gondor and Rohan is no easy decision, especially for you who have been tormented by their legions for generations. But ask yourselves, would you rather you and your children lived in a world as slaves of the Eye or as free men? Let every man choose for himself. This decision I have made is one I would force on no other!"

Having said his piece he stepped back, leaving the men before him in thought as each considered their possible courses of action. Standing in front of Castamir he never saw the significant glance the Black Númenórean gave to his comrades in the ranks of men before them. All Harry saw was Valacar and then Minalcar behind him step out from the group.

"I will come with you," Valacar said, "the Dark Lord has never been a friend of to the men of Númenór, not after our ancestors humbled him all those lifetimes ago. To him we are but tools that he will discard when he no longer has need of us. I have no wish to be discarded by any man, let alone one I have given a lifetime of servitude to!"

Minalcar nodded in agreement, a feeling that seemed to emulate from the rest of the Númenóreans. Harry knew he had them, though he had known that as soon as Castamir had decided to support him. The others would follow his lead.

Then one of the Haradrium came forward, "I swore an oath to serve you, I will not become an oath breaker because I was afraid of the consequences."

Soon all the men were kneeling, abandoning the service of Mordor for Harry's. He wondered why they did it, was it perhaps like him some deep down knowledge which they purposely kept buried that everything they did in the service of Mordor was wrong. It didn't matter he supposed, all that mattered was whether they would all come to regret it.

"My lord," Valacar said, "we are at your disposal."

These were truly his men now, men for whatever reasons had decided to follow him in abandoning the service of the Dark Lord. They were his men and now they were off to meet the wizard.

* * *

**AN: ****I originally had it that Harry would go to the aid of Helm's Deep but then decided to do otherwise, every other story does that and that for me is a good enough reason to avoid doing it. ****One thing I would have an idea about is how people want Harry to turn out, he will not be 'evil' as such; but how dark do you want him, or how much is he a 'the end justifies the means' man.**

**For those that like Boromir (and from the reviews I would say that is a lot), I would recommend 'The Raven's Blade' series by Valandhir, on the Hobbit/LOTR crossover, they are brilliant. I say this just because there seems to be a fair few Boromir fans out there.**

**T Horn**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: The next instalment of this fic, and the first where wider, cross-world references are beginning to show. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 10

The tower of Orthanc rose high, visible against the backdrop of the tail end of the Misty Mountains as Harry and his men rode towards it banners clear and visible. The plan was simple they would waltz over to the gate of the fortress, have the White Wizard invite them in and kill him and take control of the fortress. It sounded a lot easier than it was going to be.

For one it seemed as if Saruman had not totally lost his wits and still had a small force with him, most of them lesser orcs as opposed to Uruk-Hai but they would be enough to put up a fight should it come to that.

In addition Harry was not going to underestimate Saruman, it was not for nothing that he had been the greatest of his Order and one of the few people powerful enough to have most of the servants of the Dark Lord wary of them. His powers would only have been increased now that he was delving into the forbidden arts as spells and curses, which previously he would never have used.

"Who approaches Isenguard?" came the undeniable voice of a man.

Harry glanced at Castamir, who frowned grimly. They had of course heard tales of the alliance between Saruman and the wild Dunlings from some of the villages they had come across on their way but it seemed unconceivable that a wizard would leave the guarding of his gates to savages. That left them with the only conclusion that these were mostly likely elite, which was only going to cause them problems.

"Tell your master," Harry called back, "that the Lord of Rhovanion has come to have some talks with him, should he be available."

"My lord Saruman has heard of the great Sorcerer of Dol Guldur," the reply came, "and would gladly talk to him."

There was a grating noise as the heavy iron and wood gates were pulled open to allow Harry and his company to pass, to find themselves in what looked like a living hell. The walls that surrounded Isenguard did well to conceal what lay behind them and Harry had only the plains of Mordor to compare them with and there the similarities were striking.

The most obvious thing was the way the river had been dammed, it should have formed an impressive waterfall coming down the cliff face above the fortress, but instead it had shut off to fuel the demands of Saruman's new armies. Deep scars were also evident in the ground where minerals for weapons had been forged, showing in the deep pits that littered the path between the gates and the tower.

Even from they stood Harry could see a faint figure of white standing at the foot of the tower, but as they rode closer it became evident that the figure of the White Wizard was in actual fact standing half way up the flight of steps that led up into the tower. A tactical positioning Harry was certain so that he and his company had to look up even as they rode in on their horses.

"So this is the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur?" Saruman's powerful voice said as Harry approached the bottom of the steps, "you truly are as young as they say you are."

Harry had heard that most of the powers of Saruman were in his tongue, for it was said that he possessed a voice that made men feel inadequate in comparison, causing those that listened to agree to whatever the wizard was suggesting.

"It is not age that matters," Harry replied, to a statement that seemed to be coming from everyone these days.

"No it is not," agreed the wizard, "it is power that matters, and you possess enough of that to make up for your lack of years."

Harry nodded, unsure how to reply to the compliment. With a signal from him he and his men dismounted and approached the steps of the Tower. Harry saw that Saruman's gaze had been drawn to something in particular among the company.

"Do my eyes deceive me," Saruman asked, "or is that Boromir of Gondor who comes with you? I had been reliably informed he had been killed I see that is not the case."

"It does seem your information is not reliable," Boromir agreed sarcastically.

Harry silenced him with a look, "I happened to save my lord Boromir's life from some bad wounds he sustained, he now serves me until such a time as he can pay back his debt. I am afraid though to admit he does bear a slight grudge against you, something about the Uruks that nearly killed him."

"Understandable," Saruman said, "petty and unimportant men often hold grudges which infer in greater matters than that of their hopeless thoughts of revenge. I did what I did because I must, not because I wish to incite the desire for vengeance in a man who is of little consequence."

"Naturally," Harry remarked drily.

"Might I invite you and your men in," Saruman asked, "there will be food laid out for them whilst you and I have a needed conversation."

Harry nodded in reply, following the master of Isenguard up the steps into the Tower, his men following him two by two through the dark stone arch of the doorway and into the beast's den, not sure whether they were going to come out.

**********Orthanc*********

"So what does the mighty Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, the slayer of one of the Nine," Saruman said with mock humility, "wish with me?"

Harry's men were downstairs in the great hall, dining by Saruman's hand. Food and wine too had been laid out for Harry and Saruman up in the audience chamber but Harry had made no move for it, Castamir and Prongs following his example.

Harry shook his head, "let's not play games, Saruman. Your men came onto my lands, that I can forgive as I see now they came in the name of the Dark Lord, but they killed some of my people. Now you understand the difficulty I am in, I can neither condone such actions and thereby preform an action which would see me removed from my position, but at the same time neither can I go against it."

"So what would you have of me?" Saruman asked.

"You know," Harry replied, "I cannot sanction what you did, but were you to give reparations for the actions they committed, well then that might be enough for me to forgive the incident. But not forget it."

Saruman's lip curled, "so you are willing to forgive the intrusion of my men because they were doing what they were doing on the bidding of the Eye?"

Harry stared at the wizard, trying to work out what he meant by that. Why had he picked up on that one reference out of all Harry had said, why did he not question the worth that a handful of villagers had to a lord like him? Why did he have to pick up on the reference to the Dark Lord, what did he know?

"As a loyal servant of the Dark Lord," Harry murmured, "I must do everything I can to further his goals, including allowing troops who serve another man but me to cross my lands, even if I would rather they did not."

"Oh I think we both know what it is to serve the Eye and at the same time not serve it," Saruman said mockingly.

Harry stiffened slightly, had Saruman caught wind of his plot and laid out a trap which Harry had just fallen into. Where all his men downstairs being slaughtered by numerous assailants or else were they being poisoned by the feast laid out for them? But then why would Saruman say both of them rather than just him? Was he trying to get Harry to confess or was he actually working against Saruman himself? Harry felt his head beginning to hurt, talking with Saruman seemed to be one long game of riddles and hidden intentions.

"I am and have always been a good judge of a man," Saruman said settling down on his throne, "I see you and you are the first for some time to really puzzle me, in you I see things that never normally coexist. Hatred and love, ambition and humility, envy and charity. I must admit your deeds make you a man I am rather interested in, that is why I am going to make you an offer."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "oh, and what is that offer?"

"An alliance," Saruman announced, "an alliance which will shake the world, one which will rock its very foundations. Its strength shall be felt all over Middle Earth, from the Blue Mountains to Mordor, and all it touches shall shake in fear of its power."

An alliance, well that had not been quite what Harry had been imagining. He had thought that perhaps Saruman might offer him something to offset the losses his Uruk-Hai had inflicted in Harry's lands, perhaps a sizeable amount of gold or even a couple of rare magical objects. He had not anticipated an alliance. And that was before Harry got to the worrying talking about the strength of their alliance being felt from the Blue Mountains, why would Saruman wish for Sauron to feel the strength of their alliance.

Then it came to Harry, why Saruman was so keen to offer him an alliance or agreement of some sort. Why he had talked about serving the Eye and at the same time not serving it. He was planning to go against Sauron when the time was right, and wanted as many allies as possible for when that time came.

For a moment Harry considered it, why should he not? After all was he not planning to go independent and would that not be easier with Saruman as an ally. Of course he was not foolish enough to think that in the end Saruman was merely fighting for independence, whatever Sauron had done to corrupt had done so thoroughly that the former Head of the Istari Order was now planning to take Sauron's place.

Harry was tempted to let him do it, after all it was unlikely that Saruman would be able to succeed. Whilst Saruman might have thousands of Uruk-Hai he had yet to turn many men to his cause, the people of Harad and Rhun were bound over to Sauron through agreements hundreds of years old and were unlikely to break them because they favoured being under Saruman's rule as opposed to Sauron's. The war would be long and brutal with both sides trying to wear down the other, and Harry would be caught between them both geographically and politically, leaving him extremely vulnerable.

"The Eye is powerful and its legions vast," Harry said, "what makes you think that we will be victorious, were I to join you?"

"Sauron might command the orcs of Mordor," Saruman said dismissively, his voice powerfully convincing, "but together we would be able to defeat him, I can provide the Uruks of Isenguard and you can provide the magical support from them. Together we will crush all before us."

"Together?" Harry tested the word.

"Why not?" Saruman pressed, "we could split this Middle Earth in two, you ruling everything to the east of the Anduin and I everything to the west. With our powers we can assure that nothing like as evil as Sauron ever rises again in this world. Men would bow to us as gods, for to them we shall be."

"Even gods die," Harry said slowly.

Saruman dismissed that, "then we shall be more than mere gods, we shall be the gods of gods. When the time comes we could move again the Valar in the West, and take for ourselves the Lands of the Undying to ensure that those that we love never die."

Suddenly there was a noise from outside the tower, which caused all three of the men in the room to turn in surprise. Moments later the air has filled with the sound of orcish shrieks and the sound of stone colliding with stone.

The White Wizard hurried to the balcony to see the sign below, followed quickly behind by Castamir and Harry. Chaos was unfolding on the grounds of Isenguard below. What looked like trees had smashed down the walls and were throwing pieces of masonry at any of the servants of Isenguard within sight.

Those of the balcony watched in shock as orcs were crushed by stone, stood on and the various pieces of scaffolding they were on pulled down. Saruman could not seem to believe his eyes as his stronghold below him was laid waste by the power of the trees.

"What are they?" Harry asked in wonder.

"They are Ents," came the voice of Prongs behind them, "the tree herders, some of the oldest things in existence with the exception of the Valar and the Maia. For generations they have slept and now they are awakening."

The orcs below were doing their best to stop the rampant Ents but their actions were useless. Whenever they managed to pull one to the ground and set upon it with their axes another would be there to rescue it before they managed any serious harm, indeed the best they had managed to do was set one of them on fire with fire arrows but even then had quickly paid for their folly with their lives.

Then in the air there was a sound like thunder coming from the mountains, causing every head to turn in that direction. And what they saw was water pouring down the mountain side, the dam that held the river in place burst open and the water released. It burst across the flat plain of the Isen, washing away all in its wake. Orcs were washed away, the Ents themselves bracing themselves against its impact whilst it flooded all the pits and mines that when deep beneath the surface. Harry watched as the power of the river pushed a huge crane over the edge of one of the mines, sending it plummeting down into the abyss.

As the great mine flooded, so too did Saruman's forge, his breeding pits and his barracks. Gone too were his weapon storage, the dens of his wargs and the mineral deposits from which he forged his weapons. Gone were the tools from which Saruman had created his armies and with it a lot of the wizard's power.

Harry glanced at Castamir and they exchanged weighted looks, for now even if the fortress of Helm's Deep fell and with it the realm of Rohan, Isenguard had already fallen and would be unable to recover. Saruman was now under siege in Orthanc, unable to leave because of the flood waters and the Ents. Even if his army returned Harry was not sure that their depleted numbers would be sufficient enough to take on the fury of the Tree Herders, the extent of which had been fully demonstrated below.

So Harry's decision was made for him, not one he regretted but one he knew was probably the right one. Without the support of Saruman's legions they would have little hope against the might of Sauron and so allying himself with the Master of Isenguard was now no longer an option.

"Go below," Harry whispered to Castamir, "tell the men to slit the guards' throats, I want absolutely no noise."

The man nodded and disappeared back down the passage in the direction of the hall where the men were feasting. All of them knew what to do, they had planned it before they had arrived and although the presence of the Ents outside changed many aspects of the plan it also saved them from having to fight with the numerous orcs that they had already killed.

Saruman was still looking over the plain of Isenguard with disbelief on his features. For a moment Harry was almost sorry for the wizard, to have seen everything that he had taken years to build up until he was on the point of victory only to have it torn down in a matter of seconds. Such was the wizard's shock, horror and occupation with what was going on outside he did not realise Harry raise his wand at his back until it was too late.

"Stupefy!"

The bolt of red light connected with the back of the wizard's head and would have seen him over the edge of the balcony had Harry not quickly summoned him away from the edge. The wizard himself was as much of a prize as the tower, so much knowledge and so many secrets he had inside his head and Harry intended to get as many of them as possible.

"Prongs," Harry said to his bodyguard, "bind him up tight so there is no chance of escape, gag him as well. Let's see what we can learn from him."

The armoured spirit nodded and picked up the wizard, slinging him over his shoulders and carrying him over to a chair which Harry had occupied during their negotiations. Harry however had moved to where the wizard's staff lay on the floor, kneeling to pick it up exulting in the rush that ran through his veins as he touched it.

It acknowledged him as its new master, and as he felt its power Harry began to understand why these Istari were so powerful and feared. For while all other magic users fell into one of three categories; elemental, sorcerer or ritual user, the Istari were none of these. The staff which Harry held in his hand was meant to channel the wizard's wishes and desires, to put his thoughts into reality through magic. It was the ultimate weapon, a pure form of expression magic. It was magic without limits, magic that could defy the conditions of knowledge and spell work. It was power and now it was Harry's.

Harry gripped the leather handle, revelling in the weight of the metal staff. In this it was so totally unlike anything that Harry had ever seen before, he had always thought that a staff or wand needed to be made of wood but here was an exception. At the top of the staff held by four forked prongs that reminded Harry of the tip of the tower of Orthanc was a milky white orb.

As if in a dream Harry walked over to Saruman's metal throne against the wall and settled now in it, revelling in his new guardianship over the Tower of Orthanc. He sat there, his new staff leaning on the arm of his new throne, thinking about what he should do next. In the back of his mind he knew that the visitors sitting on his doorstep were going to be a problem, and Harry was not quite sure how best to handle it.

In a moment Harry's mind flashed back to his defeat of Saruman, it was so inglorious, so dishonourable and so against anything the boy who had stepped through this world would ever have stood for. It was the move that a Hogwart's student would associate with a Slytherin rather than Harry. But no longer could Harry afford to stick to what was noble and honourable, this was war and he had learn that nothing in war is ever honourable no matter the tales of great exploits and valorous men.

**********Orthanc*********

It was Saruman's private study and so unsurprisingly it was a rather grand affair. Book shelves heaped with precious manuscripts and books where set all around the room, whilst a grand desk of polish black marble stood in the centre. On the desk was a bookstand with a book on it lying open. Harry wandered over, wondered what Saruman had been studying.

The page lay open on a diagram with writing around the edges which Harry had to squint to read for the handwriting was poor although the artwork was beautiful. The diagram showed seven circles in a band around one another, detailed in their illustration. Each of the bands seemed to be inhabited by hordes of hellish monsters.

Harry idly flicked the page and found himself face to face with a diagram of one of these creatures. From the diagram Harry would say that it was around the size of Hagrid, yet not as broad, instead muscular and well built. Its skin was brownish, coarse hair running down its back and arms whilst its eyes seemed to gleam with hidden fire. It was enough to cause the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end. He read the inscription:

_Lesser Demons of the Sixth Level: _

_From my visions I can see that these beings seem to rule the Sixth Level out of the Seven that make up the Realms of the Damned. The illustration above shows the elemental fire version but I saw others, hundreds of different species of these being existed and I was able to catalogue only a few of them. _

_These demons seem to be quick to anger and live for combat, fighting among their own kind is a regular affair. When their masters in the higher up level call them to service, they are quick to respond, whether that be through fear or loyalty I was unable to ascertain, but they formed armies with which the demons of the Second and Third Levels play out their wars of dominance. Fortunately they seem rarely to cross the boundaries between worlds, such an occurrence with their highly organised society would be a sure recipe for a demon invasion._

Intrigued Harry turned over another couple of pages, looking for another with a picture. He found one but of a race that seemed very different from the first he had seen. Indeed try as he might Harry could see no physical relationship between the two that might suggest common ancestry.

This race was very different, for they stood tall and gaunt with flesh pale as milk and blue eyes, deeper and bluer than human eyes, burning like ice, as bright as blue stars, and as cold. This race of demon seemed more advanced and more human than the last, for these were garbed in armour that shifts in colour on the page as well as wielding swords that looked as if they were made of thin crystal. Harry turned his attention away from the drawing and down to the notes the author had written on them:

* * *

_Lesser Demons of the Seventh Level:_

_These beings are among the weakest of them that dwell in the lands of the demonic races. Their society and racial structure like many other of the demonic races is divided depending on element. Those above are those of the Ice Demons, who dwell in the mountainous regions of the Seventh Circle. Naturally they have an unceasing hatred of fire and water demons, their respective courts in a constant state of warfare._

_Ignored largely by their kindred in other circles because of their weakness, the Demons of the Seventh Circle have been able to develop in the way of many more sentient races. Swords and armour they make well and have tamed beasts which they ride as horses. Indeed in terms of social structure they are not very different from many races on Middle Earth, with their own kings, laws and codes of honour._

* * *

Demons with honour, Harry thought amused, it seems that even the most infamously evil creatures have a thing which most men seemed to lack.

He turned the page and saw the next image. This was the sort of thing that Harry imagined when he thought of demons, for its appearance was truly something that would cause most grown men to shake in fear. It was tall and menacing, thirty foot if Harry was to estimate from the scale diagram of a human standing next to it. Its whole figure seemed to him to be shrouded themselves in fire, darkness, and shadow, so that only a set of horns and a fire filled mouth were the only features that could be seen.

* * *

_Greater Demons of the Fourth Level:_

_A different sort of creature entirely from many others of the demonic race, because of the way their society is form. Indeed it seems to me that these beings have no society, but act solidary lives concerning only over the things that might concern the beasts of the field; mates, sustenance and occasionally anger driven destruction._

_Such creatures make their dwellings deep into the mountains, near the hearts of the volcanoes that litter the landscape of their world. Their size ranges from the size of a troll to that of a dragon and yet size is not an indicator of power, for the Greater Demons are steeped in magic that runs to their bones. They truly are a force to behold, and one loose among the worlds would be a problem to any who encountered it._

* * *

At the side of the page there was a small note in a different coloured ink from that of the writer's. Harry glanced down at the desk and seeing an ink pot there, emptied a little bit of it onto a piece of parchment and held it up against the page comparing the colour of the ink. It was the same, leading Harry to believe that it was Saruman who had made this addition.

* * *

_The demons described and depicted here are reminiscent of the balrogs of old. When I presented the picture to a dwarf who had seen the creature following the Battle of Azanulbizar, he positively identified it, leaving me with little doubt over the origins of the creatures. How Morgoth was able to raise this foul beings from their realms is still a mystery to me but I work at solving it._

* * *

Harry felt a thrill of terror run through his body, so this was what had killed Gandalf the Grey in Moria, a demon. Legends abounded throughout the Wizarding World about demons, but they had always been thought just that, legends. To hear that not only did they exist but had been summoned into this world before, admittedly thousands of years ago was enough to send a shiver down Harry's spine.

Saruman must have heard of the fall of Gandalf and remembered this and come in to study it to refresh his memory. To Harry there was something chilling about it, to learn that monsters such as the balrogs were demons and not only demons, but those of only the Fourth Level, which meant there were three levels of more powerful demons above them.

"My lord?"

Harry turned and saw Castamir standing by the door, respectfully not entering. The Black Númenórean had been set the task of searching the tower to hunt out those who had served Saruman and had yet to depart from this Earth.

"We have finished hunting the rats out of their holes," he said.

Harry sighed, "well let's have a look around!"

Harry took one last look at the book, absorbing the image of the fire wreathed demon, before shutting it and following his lieutenant out of the door. The image would occupy a big part of his mind, and it needed to.

**********Orthanc*********

"What's down there?" Harry asked.

He was pointing towards a set of steps that disappeared down into the blackness. Castamir shrugged whilst others among the men shook their heads, all of them saying they did not know. Harry took a torch down from a bracket on the wall and started to proceed down the steps, his men following behind him.

Coming to the bottom of the steps Harry found himself in a long corridor with a series of doors leading of it onto rooms that Harry presumed could not be too big due to the spacing of the doors. Lighting the torches on the walls, Harry peered through one of the grates of the doors to see what was behind.

Almost immediately he leapt back as he found himself face to face with a misshapen monster, vaguely reminiscent of the Uruk-Hai, but one that looked like it had been crossed with something which Harry really did not want to know what. It started snarling and barking like a dog at him through the bars and Harry took a step back.

"Looks like some of Saruman's experiments did not pay off," Harry remarked before going to the next door.

This one was darker than the other and at first Harry could not see anything apart from a small figure huddled in the corner. Undoing the latch Harry unbolted the door and stepped through, cautious about what might be on the other side of the door. Before he could get far into the room Prongs hurried through the door and took up a defensive position at his side, Castamir following through the door at a more leisurely pace, careful to keep Harry between him and whatever was in the cell so that it would attack his commander first.

The figure on the ground was obvious human, tall but quite thin as if it had recently spent some time with little food, probably however long it had been in this cell. Hearing people enter his cell the figure turned and gazed up at them with grey, fathomless eyes framed by long black hair which hung down to his shoulders. His clothes were good looking in quality but Harry never got past the face.

"Sirius?"

* * *

**Next chapter: Explanations, meetings and conflicts.**

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**AN: I know the defeat of Saruman was not particularly dramatic, it was supposed to be that way as I doubt Harry at his current level would be able to take on a Istari as powerful of Saruman in a full out magical duel. Besides I wanted to show Harry's sense of honour is being to erode.**

**I have brought Sirius back, mainly because I realised that there were not many places in my current plan where I would be able to introduce him later and he fulfils a needed plot role so I did it now. **

**Thank you for all your reviews and comments**

**T Horn**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here is the next chapter of Kingdom's Rising. In case people are wondering, all the fics currently still on my page are still being continued, it is just at the moment I have a limited amount of time and so am focusing on only one story.**

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Chapter 11

"Sirius?" Harry said, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

The shaggy haired figure looked up, "Prongs?"

"Sirius, it's me, Harry," the wizard said kneeling beside his godfather, "what the hell are you doing down here?"

"Harry," Sirius said, "but you've all grown up now, you look so much like your father now."

Harry turned, "Prongs, help me carry him!"

"Do you know him?" Castamir asked, coming in to help as well.

"Yes," Harry replied, "he is my godfather, that is a sort of guardian where I come from. He is a wizard like I am, a powerful one as well!"

Around ten minutes later they were back upstairs, Harry and Sirius sitting alone with Prongs acting as a bodyguard so that nobody could overhear. Harry was not sure this was a conversation he wanted anyone to hear.

"I was Saruman's steward here," Sirius said, draped in a blanket and drinking a mug of warmed wine, "he found me not long after I was thrown through the Veil, eight years ago it would be now, escaping from an orc pack in the form of Padfoot."

Harry was slightly amused, "land right here and straight into an orc pack, that is so typically you. Ever tried not to get yourself not into trouble?"

His godfather glared at him, "oh and where did you arrive, in the middle of the Shire or perhaps in Rivendell or Lothlorien perhaps? Come on admit it, you are infinitely worse than I am at finding yourself in trouble."

"Not quite," Harry admitted, "quite a bit further east. My story comes later though, finish yours."

"There is not much more to it," Sirius replied, "Saruman was fascinated by how I could turn into Padfoot, and then of course when I told him about the Veil and our sort of magic he brought me here so that he could study me. We worked together for some period, trying to work out a way to create a bridge between worlds in order for me to get back home. But then the trouble started when he started getting hooked up on the Ring, and then later started breeding his army. At this point I told him I would help him no longer and was thrown into the cell."

Harry frowned, "the Ring, which ring?"

"The Ruling Ring," his godfather replied, "you see all these years ago some elves made some magical rings, Three for Men, Seven for Dwarves and Nine for Men. These rings were magical and….."

"I know about the other rings," Harry said cutting him off, revealing the chain with his own ring, "but what about the Ruling Ring."

"Is that one of the rings?" Sirius asked, before seeing his godson's expression, "ok sorry, no more distractions. Well the One Ring was the ring Sauron made for himself to control the other ones through, it was the most powerful. It was thought lost after Sauron's fall when Islidur took it, but lost it when he was slain, for generations it was believed lost and washed down to the Sea until Saruman received word that it had been found by a Halfling, by the name of Baggins."

Harry was startled, "Baggins, are you sure it was Baggins?"

Sirius nodded, "yes, definitely Baggins, why?"

"Because someone I know was on a mission with some companions," Harry said deep in thought, "to destroy something, what it was I was not sure, but one of them was called Baggins, Frodo Baggins, I think. Could this Ring be what they are going to destroy?"

"There is a good chance it will be," Sirius said seriously, "for by destroying the Ring they would be defeating Sauron for once and all. They would need to get it towards Mount Doom in Mordor though to destroy it, a task that Saruman thought was impossible."

It all made so much sense then, why Boromir had spent so much time gazing out to the east in the direction of Mordor, hoping yet despairing at the same time. It also explained their route so much more than the Gondorian's excuse that they were on their way to Minas Tirith, they weren't they were going to Mordor in such a way that avoided passing near Isenguard.

*********Isenguard **********

The riders at last came to the foot of Orthanc. The tower itself was black, and the rock gleamed as if it were wet. The many faces of the stone had sharp edges as though they had been newly chiselled. A few scorings, and small flake-like splinters near the base, were all the marks that it bore of the fury of the Ents. At the foot of the tower Gandalf and the king stopped their horses, the rest of the company following suit, looking up expectantly at the balcony above.

"Saruman, Saruman!" he cried in a loud commanding voice. "Saruman come forth!"

For some time there was no answer. At last the window above the door was unbarred, but no figure could be seen at its dark opening. The riders below strained their eyes looking to see whom it was who had opened it.

"Who comes to Isenguard?" a voice came, "and demands the White Wizard come forth?"

Gandalf frowned, "that is not the voice of Saruman, nor would he allow any to speak for him."

"No, it is not," Eomer said, "yet I recognise that voice, though it has only been a matter of days since I heard it last," he rode forward, "and what is the sorcerer of Dol Guldur doing inside the tower of Orthanc?"

Harry grinned as he came out and leant against the balcony, "the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur decided that to pay for his crimes, Saruman would have to forfeit this very nice tower of his. I rather mean to keep it."

"You have gone beyond the two hundred Uruk-Hai, I see," Eomer replied.

"Well," Harry said still grinning, "I found a distinct lack of them in the area, someone said they had all gone to a place called Helm's Deep and so I thought to myself perhaps a wizard might balance out instead. I actually have a gift for you Eomer, it should be coming out of the door out."

Immediately all eyes dropped down to the top of the steps and the door situated there, which moments later open to reveal two of Harry's men carrying out a bundle. Manhandling it down the steps they left it at the level of the floodwater, they left it there before disappearing back up the steps. Harry meanwhile had disappeared from the window.

Eomer rode forward until he was at the base of the stairs before dismounting and wading through the last metre of water he came to the package. It was a bag around the size of a man and tied at the top with a piece of knotted rope. Frowning the marshal of Rohan leant forward and untied the rope, pushing the edges of the bag down as he did so, revealing a very sorry figure beneath it.

Grima Wormtongue had been bound and gagged before being stuffed into the bag and presented to the assembled company. His fear stricken eyes flickered from man to man trying to find a hint of pity and mercy within any of them. Harry had no compunction handing him over in such a way, in the time since he had been found hiding from the massacre in a cellar Harry had only been ever reminded of another wormlike creature, one Peter Pettigrew.

"It was in return for your highly generous allowance in allowing me to continue after the orcs, I thought it would only be fitting for me to give you a present as a show of my appreciation," Harry said, appearing at the door, "do with him as you will!"

"I will," a cruel look of hatred crossing the horselord's face.

Harry came down the stairs until he was level with the riders. He saw someone who he presumed was King Theoden, a man, a dwarf and an elf whom he guessed were Boromir's companions and finally a wizard robed in white on top of a beautiful white horse.

"So the rumours are true," he said softly, "Gandalf the Grey has returned, despite falling in Moria. I am glad to make your acquaintance."

Gandalf looked troubled, "I wish I could say the same, sorcerer. Where is Saruman, I would have words with him?"

"Tut, tut," Harry said, "I would have thought an Istari would have had more manners, let alone a better knowledge of magic. I am no sorcerer, Gandalf Greyhame, and that you know, I am a wizard. As for Saruman he is currently enjoying my dungeons."

"You will hand him and the key for to the Tower of Orthanc over to me," the wizard replied, "there is magic without your knowledge there, dark and dangerous magic."

"Or what?" Harry asked, "you going to try and take it from us, you couldn't and you know it. I have more than a couple fire elementals upstairs, men who could easily deal with your Ent allies. Do not try me, Istari!"

Gandalf's expression darkened and the men around him shifted uneasily, "Saruman was deep in the council of the Enemy, through him we could learn of Mordor's next strike. Your fate is tied to defeating him as well now!"

"Well if that's all you are after you just needed to ask," Harry said with a mocking laugh, "though I am surprised the great Mithrandir has not already thought it out. The moves the Dark Lord makes are hardly disguised are they?"

"If you know anything, sorcerer," the dwarf growled, "then talk, if not bore us not with idle chatter!"

Harry frowned, "I would be more respectful if I were you, mister dwarf, but I shall share what I know. A strike will come soon, hard and fast, against the realm of Gondor before their armies have time to muster. At the same time original plans had an army marching south from Dol Guldur to attack Lothlorien, but with my desertion I imagine they will come from the mountains instead. Meanwhile an army from Rhûn will make an attempt to destroy the northern kingdom of Dale and besiege Erebor. Thus in a single move fall all the eastern realms that oppose him."

"Your desertion?" asked the ranger, one who bore a kingly face.

"I serve Sauron and Mordor no longer," Harry said with a shrug, "I am my own man and hope to always remain so, free from the schemes of wizards and Dark Lords."

"It is a trick!" the dwarf growled, "put an arrow in his gob."

The elf reached for an arrow, running his fingers along the feathers as if he wanted to fire it but was being held back by better judgement. However before he could make a decision there was a shout from the top of the stairs.

"No, Legolas!" came the firm voice of Boromir.

The company looked up in shock to see their presumed fallen comrade coming down the stairs behind Harry, followed by both Castamir and Prongs, both who were looking ready to defend their lord should it come to a fight.

"Boromir?" the ranger said disbelieving, "but we sent you over the Falls of Rauros!"

"Gandalf is not the only one capable of revival," Harry said in amusement.

The Gondorian laughed, "I would rather you check that I am truly dead before you do that next time, fortunately there were some people with better sense in this world."

"Thank you," Harry said, causing Boromir to roll his eyes.

"Boromir!" came two little shouts.

Harry watched as two figures, barely taller than children, slipped of the back of some of the riders and ran towards Boromir, who moved towards them and took them both in a hug. Inspecting them with interest, Harry concluded that these must be the halflings, for they wore no shoes and their feet were covered in a dense layer of hair like Boromir had told him.

"I presume these halflings do not have it," Harry said, looking to shock, "their companions are on their way to Mount Doom I hope?"

In an instant Harry was facing a load of weaponry being directed at him, for the ranger had drawn his sword and the elf his bow whilst Gandalf was looking on at Harry with a face full of wrath. Boromir too had his eyes wide, clearly not aware how much Harry had known.

"Peace," Harry said reassuringly, "I have every much as need for them to succeed as you do, Sauron does not look kindly upon deserters and I would be forced to flee if he were to recover it. As to how I know about the subject, the answer is that I have a friend who was close to Saruman and so learnt a lot regarding the subject from him."

"So what happens now?" Theoden asked.

Harry smiled, "I captured the tower and I mean to hold it, I make no claim on anything else in Rohan outside the walls of this fortress. Indeed I will even allow the Ents to make all the changes they desire. In return all I ask is for the tower and its inhabitants to be left alone in peace and for none of your men to hinder movement between here and Dol Guldur. Does that seem reasonable to you?"

"Your men and their ancestors have served the Enemy for hundreds of years," the King said with a stern face, "I will not have such men within the boundaries of my realm, be they confined to a lonely tower or not!"

Harry smiled mockingly, "and weren't you too serving Saruman and his master, the Lord of Mordor, until not very recently, my lord king?"

"That is different," the man replied, "for I served not of my own will, but through the sorcery of a wizard."

"And my men did not serve Mordor through their own will," Harry said, "they served to honour agreements and alliances hundreds of years old, they served so as not to break the word of their ancestors and so disgrace them. My men fight for the same reason you do; love, loyalty, fear, revenge, obedience and respect. You are not so very different."

The man holding the banner interrupted, "we are not alike, those are the things those that serve good fight for. The men of Harad and Rhun fight to rape, plunder and murder, you fight because your lords wishes to rule the world."

"You mean the sons of Eorl did when they first came to these lands," Harry asked innocently, "when they displaced the native Dunlings, burning their villages and taking their women. Men are all the same, no matter on which side they fight."

The man with the banner was about to reply but both Eomer and King Theoden sent him a look, silently ordering him to be silent.

"Peace, Erkenbrand," the King said gently, "let us hear what he has to say."

"The men of Harad and Rhûn," Harry said derisively, "they do not fight for the Dark Lord because they want to rape, plunder and murder. They fight for the only one who has ever offered them their freedom, lying though he may be. The men of my cohort fight to escape the oppressive tyranny of Gondor and her allies, those who have done all those horrible things to them and their people. So you see, Mithrandir, it was the realms of good that were burning, raping and pillaging. Such a perfect example aren't they."

Gandalf replied quietly, "but just because those that serve are not evil, it does not mean that the Enemy is not evil."

"You know, Mithrandir," Harry replied, "where I came from we had our own Dark Lord, a man called Voldemort. In that world I would be standing where you are now, probably saying what you are now. But my time here has changed me, I see things no longer in black and white but only shades of grey. I think back to the conflict in home world and think, was I wrong about those that I faced?"

Harry knew that everywhere men were listening to him, those before him were listening because it was to them that he was directing his words. But from the windows and balconies his own cohort were listening to him defend him and listening to him talking about a subject he had always been quiet about, where he had come from.

"At the time," Harry said reflectively, "I treated my enemies as if they were evil, I looked at them and thought the only reason they fought because they wanted to rule the world or they enjoyed the torture and death. I feel ashamed now, looking back. The Death Eaters, as they called themselves, fought for the families and their ideals, much as I did, the only difference was those ideals. Silly things to fight and die for really."

"Our ideals make us who we are," the elf said, but his voice was unsure.

"No they don't," Harry said bitterly, "they imprison us in a world where men don't agree with us, and then force us to fight over them. The men of Rhûn are no different from the men of Gondor, the men of Harad from those of Rohan, the only thing that separates them is that they are fighting on different sides of a war. That is the difference, not that one is evil or good."

The elf nodded slowly, "mankind has its faults, that is so but not every race of Middle Earth is so stricken!"

"Do you not see," Harry asked incredulously, "it is not just mankind. I have seen tender love in an orc and disinterest from elves. Even as you stand here preaching your war of good versus evil, your kin abandon us to fight Sauron ourselves. Is that not callous abandonment or do you prefer cowardice?"

The elf's eyes flashed red with anger at the insult, but the ranger put his hand on its elbow and whispered something to him, which caused him to relax.

"But you lead and they followed," the ranger pointed out, "you led because of your morals, and they followed that. You led them from the darkness!"

Harry laughed, "your answer betrays your ignorance, I led the way but they did not follow because of me. Some did, others because they were tired of hating, or because they were tired of living in exile, far away from a home they haven't seen for generations. My men followed because it was what they wanted or needed to do, not because it was the thing that was right to do."

"You are wise beyond your years, sorcerer," Theoden said breaking the silence, "Rohan will recognise your claim to the Tower of Orthanc, provided you hand over Saruman to be delivered to our justice. I hope that we can be friends, for you seem to be the sort of friend a man needs in these dark times."

"I thank you, Theoden King," Harry replied using the correct Rohirrium form of address, "I hope you will forgive me for my harsh words earlier."

Theoden waved them off, "they were but the truth. A hard truth, but the truth nevertheless!"

Harry bowed his head towards the company of riders, before sharply turning on his heels and making his way back into the tower. Once he was inside he made his way to Saruman's balcony, looking as the riders withdrew back to the nearest bit of dry land.

"Sirius," Harry said.

"Yes?" his godfather replied.

Harry smiled wanly, "I was wondering whether perhaps you would be able to take up your old position here, as steward. You know the area and are the only one I can trust with the power that is here in this tower."

His godfather looked at Harry strangely for a moment before taking him into his arms in one huge hug. He then pulled back to regard Harry again.

"You have grown," Sirius said watching Harry with a keen eye, "before you were a boy playing at being a hero, now you are a man being a ruler and a bloody one at that. Don't kid yourself with what you said out there, many of the men in here followed you to Isenguard because of yourself, because they saw you as a leader and a man to follow. You have grown up now and I am proud of you."

Harry smiled a watery smile, "boys tend to do that. It's good to see you again Sirius!"

"And Harry," he said, "your parents would be proud to see what you have become as well!"

Harry shook his head, "no they would not, my parents were good people and now I am not."

"You never knew your parents," his godfather said gently, "and those that talk of them only told you about the best of them. No one can measure himself against the dead and win, for people only remember what was good in those who have gone."

"Would they have done as I have done?" Harry asked bitterly, "would they have done as many bad things as I have done?"

Sirius smiled, "we all do bad things for the ones we love, we could truly love them if we weren't willing to do them. Your father soon after your birth oversaw the systematic dismantling of a company which was a rival to one your father owned. Hundreds were made unemployed, more than a couple died of hunger and loss of shelter. James knew that, and he would have done it again, because by doing so he ensured that you would be cared for if anything was to happen to him."

"I always thought they would have wanted me to do what was right," Harry said, "to be a hero."

Sirius nodded, his face taking on one of wisdom. Not the kind of wisdom as Dumbledore which seemed to come from a white beard and a set of glasses, wisdom that came from intelligence and age but rather one that comes from experience.

"There is a saying that my great grandfather bastard that he was, had attributed to himself, for he too was once called a hero," Sirius said, "'a hero is what you get called when you kill so many people that the word murderer seems falls short'. Remember that, heroes kill and do bad things as much as the next person, the only difference is they do them for a cause. One man's hero is another's villain. All heroes are villains to some and all villains are heroes to others."

*********Orthanc*********

The rest of the company outside their gates were preparing to leave. Harry, Gandalf and the Ent, Treebeard, had come to some sort of arrangement whereby that Harry would keep the tower of Orthanc as long as it was under the stewardship of Sirius whom Gandalf seemed to approve of, but Harry was to leave all matters outside the Tower under the control of the Ents. Harry was ok with that, Sirius had told him of how beautiful Isenguard had been before Saruman destroyed it and so he did not mind that the Ents wished to restore it to its former glory.

At the moment he was looking for Boromir. The man of Gondor had been reluctant to depart with the rest of his friends, even when begged to by the two halflings, saying that he wanted to stay with the friends he had made here. Harry knew he was lying, Boromir had made friends among the cohort but none that would make him want to stay in such a way. He eventually found him standing on the balcony looking over the leaving scene.

"Why do you hesitate to go with them?" Harry asked, joining man on the balcony.

Boromir did not answer for a moment, "in an army when a man runs in the face of the enemy once it is remembered, and after that other soldiers have no wish to stand beside a man whom they unsure will stick through to the bitter end. I have failed them once, I have no wish to see that failure in their eyes every time they look at me."

"But if that man never returns to the battlefield," Harry said continuing the allegory, "then it only reinforces the charges of cowardice and he does not get the opportunity to redeem himself when next they come face-to-face with the enemy."

"But what if the man is unsure that next time he would be able to stand and fight?" Boromir said, the shame he felt coming out in his voice.

Harry patted the warrior on the back, "then he remembers what happened last time, remembers the feeling of failure and what it would mean for him to regain his honour. Then he fights and, should he need to, dies to prove that one mistake does not make a man. Go with them!"

"It tortured me," Boromir said, tears in his eyes at his shame, "it corrupted my thoughts and dreams until I could think about nothing but it. I tried to take it from Frodo, I tried to take it even when Aragorn was not even tempted. I am a lesser man for it!"

So that was it, it was not just the feeling of shame at failing at his duty but also something else, Boromir felt inadequate when compared to his comrade. Harry was not going to have that, not from a man whom he counted as a friend. Boromir was one of the most dutiful and honourable people whom he knew, a man he had come to count as a role model even in their short time together.

"And why did you try to take the Ring?" Harry asked aggressively, "did you do it for glory? To set yourself up as the ruler of Middle Earth or perhaps so you could live a life eternal? No, you didn't because you did it for your people, those who looked at you with trust and love in their eyes. I know what that does to a man, Aragorn does not. You did it through love of your people, of your home and there is no nobler reason for wanting it than that! For wanting to protect them!"

Conviction was coming back in his eyes as Harry spoke, and the young wizard knew he had got the measure of the man before him, one who did all he did in the name of the duty and the realm that raised him.

"Now, go with your friends," Harry said kindly, "and prove to them that you will not fall when tempted again!"

* * *

Next chapter: Ships, back sails and politics.

* * *

**AN: Not a lot happened this chapter but I still think it was one of the most important, lots of philosophical things for Harry to sort out. **

**T Horn**


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